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THE  WILD   GEESE 


OTHER    BOOKS    BY 
STANLEY     J.     WEYMAN 

The  House  of  the  Wolf 

The  New  Rector 

The  Story  of  Francis  Cludde 

A  Gentleman  of  France 

Under  the  Red  Robe 

My  Lady  Rotha 

Memoirs  of  a  Minister  of  France 

The  Red  Cockade 

The  Man  in  Black 

Shrewsbury 

The  Castle  Inn 

Sophia 

Count  Hannibal 

Li  Kings'  Byways 

The  Long  Night 

The  Abbess  of  Vlaye 

Starvecrow  Farm 


so     THE     STRUGGLE     DEPICTED    ITSELF    TO    MORE 
THAN  ONE  " 


THE  WILD  GEESE 

BY 

STANLEY  J.  WEYMAN 

Illustrated  by  W.  H.  Margetson 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

1909 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED,    INCLUDING    THAT   OF   TRANSLATION 
INTO    FOREIGN    LANGUAGES,    INCLUDING    THE    SCANDINAVLAN 

COPYRIGHT,    1908,    1909,   BY    STANLEY   J.    WEYMAN 
PUBLISHED,    FEBRUARY,    1909 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


I. 

On  Board  the  "Cormorant  "  Sloop 

3 

II. 

MORRISTOWN 

• 

16 

III. 

A  Scion  of  Kings 

■                   • 

26 

IV. 

"Stop  Thief!"       . 

,                    » 

39 

V. 

The  Mess-room  at  Tralee 

•                   • 

53 

VI. 

The  Maitre  d'Armes     . 

• 

66 

VII. 

Bargaining    . 

«                   • 

81 

VIII. 

An  After-dinner  Game 

i                          • 

92 

IX. 

Early  Risers 

• 

105 

X. 

A  Council  of  War 

•                          •                 _ 

119 

XL 

A  Message  for  the  Young 

Master 

134 

XII. 

The  Sea  Mist 

•                    • 

148 

XIII. 

A  Slip 

•                   • 

162 

XIV. 

The   Colonel's  Terms    . 

•                   • 

174 

XV. 

Femina  Furens 

•                   « 

188 

XVI. 

The  Marplot 

•                   • 

202 

XVII. 

The  Limit    .... 

•                   • 

215 

XVIII. 

A  Counterplot 

•                   < 

230 

XIX. 

Peine  Forte  et  Dure  . 

•                   • 

244 

VI  THE    WILD    GEESE 

CHAPTER  TAGt. 

XX.  An  Unwelcome  Visitor           .         .         .257 

XXI.     The  Key 273 

XXII.  The  Scene  in  the  Passage    .          .          .        286 

XXIII.  Behind  the  Yews           .          .          .          .297 

XXIV.  The  Pitcher  at  the  Well    .          .          .312 

XXV.     Peace 320 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  So    THE    Struggle    Depicted   Itself    to    More 

Than  One  ! "       .  .  .  .  .     Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"'Who    Loves    Me,  Follows  Me! — Across    the 

Water'" 102 

"Then.with  A  Queer  Sobbing  Sound,  She  Fainted"         170 

"  She  Lunged  with  all  the  Force  of  Her  Strong 

Young  Arm  "      .  .....        194 


THE  WILD   GEESE 


CHAPTER  I 

ON  BOARD  THE  " CORMORANT*'   SLOOP 

MIDWAY  in  that  period  of  Ireland's  history  dur- 
ing which,  according  to  historians,  the  dis- 
tressful country  had  none — to  be  more  precise, 
on  a  spring  morning  early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and 
the  reign  of  George  the  First,  a  sloop  of  about  seventy 
tons'  burthen  was  beating  up  Dingle  Bay,  in  the  teeth 
of  a  stiff  easterly  breeze.  The  sun  was  two  hours  high, 
and  the  gray  expanse  of  the  bay  was  flecked  with  white 
horses  hurrying  seaward  in  haste  to  leap  upon  the  Blas- 
quets,  or  to  disport  themselves  in  the  field  of  ocean. 
From  the  heaving  deck  of  the  vessel  the  mountains  that 
shall  not  be  removed  were  visible  —  on  the  northerly 
tack  Brandon,  on  the  southerly  Carntual;  the  former 
sunlit,  with  patches  of  moss  gleaming  like  emeralds  on 
its  breast,  the  latter  dark  and  melancholy,  clothed  in 
the  midst  of  tradition  and  fancy  that  in  those  days  garbed 
so  much  of  Ireland's  bog  and  hill. 

The  sloop  had  missed  the  tide,  and,  close  hauled  to 
the  wind,  rode  deep  in  the  ebb,  making  little  way  with 
each  tack.  The  breeze  hummed  through  the  rigging. 
The  man  at  the  helm  humped  a  shoulder  to  the  sting  of 
the  spray,  and  the  rest  of  the  crew,  seven  or  eight  in 


4  THE    WILD    GEESE 

number  —  tarry,  pigtailed,  outlandish  sailor  men  — 
crouched  under  the  windward  rail.  The  skipper  sat 
with  a  companion  on  a  coil  of  rope  on  the  dry  side  of 
the  skylight,  oblivious  alike  of  the  weather  and  his  diffi- 
culties, his  eyes  fixed  on  his  neighbour,  in  wondering, 
fatuous  admiration. 

"Never?"  he  murmured  respectfully. 

"Never,"  his  companion  answered. 

"My  faith!"  Captain  Augustin  rejoined.  He  was 
a  cross  between  a  Frenchman  and  an  Irishman.  For 
twenty  years  he  had  carried  wine  to  Ireland,  and  returned 
laden  with  wool  to  Bordeaux  or  Cadiz.  He  knew  every 
inlet  between  Achill  Sound  and  the  Head  of  Kinsale, 
and  was  so  far  a  Jacobite  that  he  scorned  to  pay  duty 
to  King  George.  "Never?  My  faith!"  he  repeated, 
staring,  if  possible,  harder  than  ever. 

"No,"  said  the  Colonel.  "Under  no  provocation, 
thank  God!" 

"But  it's  drole,"  Captain  Augustin  rejoined.  "It 
would  bother  me  sorely  to  know  what  you  do." 

"What  we  all  should  do,"  his  passenger  answered 
gently.  "Our  duty.  Captain  Augustin.  Doing  which, 
we  have  no  more  to  fear,  no  more  to  question." 

"  But  west  of  Shannon,  where  there  is  no  law  ?  "  Augus- 
tin answered.  "And  in  Kerry  —  where  we  '11  be,  the 
saints  helping,  before  noon  —  what  with  Sullivans, 
and  Mahonies,  and  O'Beirnes,  that  wear  coats  only  for 
a  gentleman  to  tread  upon,  and  would  sooner  shoot  a 
friend   before   breakfast   than   spend   the  day   idle,  par 


ON  BOARD   THE   'CORMORANT"    5 

ma  foi,  I  'm  not  seeing  what  you  '11  be  doing  there, 
Colonel." 

"A  man  may  protect  himself  from  violence,"  the 
Colonel  answered  soberly,  "and  yet  do  his  duty.  What 
he  may  not  do  —  is  this:  He  may  not  go  out  to  kill 
another  in  cold  blood,  for  a  point  of  honour,  or  for  revenge, 
or  to  sustain  what  he  has  already  done  amiss!  I  hope 
I  make  myself  clear,  Captain  Augustin?"  he  added 
courteously. 

He  asked  because  the  skipper's  face  of  wonderment 
was  not  to  be  misread.  And  the  skipper  answered, 
"Quite  clear!"  meaning  the  reverse.  Clear,  indeed? 
Yonder  were  the  hills  and  bogs  of  Kerry  —  lawless, 
impenetrable,  abominable  —  a  realm  of  Tories.  On 
the  sloop  itself  was  scarce  a  man  whose  hands  were  free 
from  blood.  He,  Augustin,  mild-mannered  as  any 
smuggler  on  the  coast,  had  spent  his  life  between  fleeing 
and  fighting,  with  his  four  carronades  ever  crammed 
to  the  muzzle,  and  his  cargo  ready  to  be  jettisoned  at 
sight  of  a  cruiser.  And  this  man  talked  as  if  he  were 
in  church! 

Captain  Augustin  cast  a  wild  eye  at  the  straining, 
shrieking  rigging;  the  sloop  was  lurching  heavily.  But 
whether  he  would  or  jio,  his  eye  fluttered  back  and  rested, 
fascinated,  on  the  Colonel's  face.  Indeed,  from  the 
hour,  ten  days  earlier,  which  had  seen  him  mount  the 
side  in  the  Bordeaux  river.  Colonel  John  Sullivan  had 
been  a  subject  of  growing  astonishment  to  the  skipper. 
Captain    Augustin    knew    his    world    tolerably.     In    his 


6  THE    WILD    GEESE 

time  he  had  conveyed  many  a  strange  passenger  from 
strand  to  strand,  had  talked  with  them,  learned  their 
secrets,  and  more  often  their  hopes. 

But  such  a  man  as  this  he  had  never  carried.  A  man 
who  had  seen  outlandish  service;  but  who  neither  swore, 
nor  drank  above  measure,  nor  swaggered,  nor  threatened. 
Who  would  not  dice,  nor  game  —  save  for  trifles.  Who, 
on  the  contrary,  talked  of  duty,  had  a  peaceful  word  for 
all,  openly  condemned  the  duello,  and  was  mild  as  milk 
and  as  gentle  as  an  owl.  Such  a  one  seemed  the  fabled 
"phaynix,"  or  a  bat  with  six  wings,  or  any  other  prodigy 
which  the  fancy,  Irish  or  foreign,  could  conceive. 

Then,  to  double  the  marvel,  the  Colonel  had  a  servant, 
a  close-tongued  fellow,  William  Bale  by  name,  reputed 
an  Englishman,  who,  if  he  was  not  like  his  master,  was 
as  unlike  other  folk.  He  was  as  quiet-spoken  as  the 
Colonel,  as  precise,  and  as  peaceable.  He  had  even 
been  heard  to  talk  of  his  duty.  But  while  the  Colonel 
was  tall  and  spare,  with  a  gentle  eye  and  a  long,  kindly 
face,  and  was  altogether  of  a  pensive  cast,  Bale  was  short 
and  stout,  of  a  black  pallor,  and  very  forbidding.  His 
mouth,  when  he  opened  it  —  which  was  seldom  — ■ 
dropped  honey.  But  his  brow  scowled,  his  lip  sneered, 
and  his  silence  invited  no  confidence. 

Such  being  the  skipper's  passenger,  and  such  his 
man,  the  wonder  was  that  Captain  Augustin's  astonish- 
ment had  not  long  ago  melted  into  contempt.  But  it 
had  not.  For  one  thing,  a  seaman  had  been  hurt,  and 
the  Colonel  had  exhibited  a  skill  in  the  treatment  of 


ON  BOARD  THE  "CORMORANT"    7 

wounds  which  would  not  have  disgraced  an  experienced 
chirurgeon.  Then  in  the  bay  the  sloop  had  met  with 
half  a  gale,  and  the  passenger,  in  circumstances  which 
the  skipper  knew  to  be  more  trying  to  landsmen  than  to 
himself,  had  maintained  a  serenity  beyond  applause. 
He  had  even,  clinging  to  the  same  ring-bolt  with  the 
skipper,  while  the  south-wester  tore  overhead  and  the 
gallant  little  vessel  lay  over  wellnigh  to  her  beam-ends, 
praised  the  conduct  of  the  crew. 

"This  is  the  finest  thing  in  the  world,"  he  had  shouted, 
amid  the  roar  of  things,  "to  see  men  doing  their  duty! 
I  would  not  have  missed  this  for  a  hundred  crowns!" 

"I  'd  give  as  much  to  be  safe  in  Cherbourg,"  had  been 
the  skipper's  grim  reply  as  he  watched  his  mast. 

But  Augustin  had  not  forgotten  the  Colonel's  coolness. 
A  landsman,  for  whom  the  trough  of  the  wave  had  no 
terrors,  was  not  a  man  to  be  despised. 

Indeed,  from  that  time  the  skipper  had  begun  to 
find  a  charm  in  the  Colonel's  gentleness  and  courtesy. 
He  had  fought  against  the  feeling,  but  it  had  grown  upon 
him.  Something  that  was  almost  affection  began  to 
mingle  with  and  augment  his  wonder.  Hence  the  patience 
with  which,  with  Kerry  on  the  beam,  he  listened  while 
the  Colonel  sang  his  siren  song. 

"He  will  be  one  of  the  people  called  Quakers,"  the 
skipper  thought,  after  a  while.  "I've  heard  of  them, 
but   never   seen   one." 

Unfortunately,  as  he  arrived  at  his  conclusion,  a  cry 
from  the  steersman  roused  him.     He  sprang  to  his  feet. 


8  THE    WILD    GEESE 

Alas!  the  sloop  had  run  too  far  on  the  northerly  tack, 
and  simultaneously  the  wind  had  shifted  a  point  to  the 
southward.  She  had  been  allowed  to  run  into  a  bight  of 
the  north  shore  and  a  line  of  foam  cut  her  off  to  the 
eastward,  leaving  small  room  to  tack.  She  might  still 
clear  the  westerly  rocks  and  run  out  to  sea,  but  the  skipper 
saw  that  this  was  doubtful,  and  with  a  seaman's  quick- 
ness he  made  up  his  mind. 

"Keep  her  on!  —  keep  her  on!"  he  roared.  "Child 
of  the  accursed!  We  must  run  into  Skull  haven!  And 
if  the  men  of  Skull  take  so  much  as  an  iron  bolt  from 
us,  and  I  misdoubt  them,  I  '11  keel-haul  you!  I  '11  not 
leave  an  inch  of  skin  upon  you!" 

The  man,  cowering  over  the  wheel,  obeyed,  and  the 
little  vessel  ran  up  the  narrowing  water  —  on  an  even 
keel.  The  crew  were  already  on  their  feet,  they  had 
loosened  the  sheet,  and  squared  the  boom;  they  stood 
by  to  lower  the  yard.  All  —  the  skipper  with  a  grim 
face  —  stood  looking  forward,  as  the  inlet  narrowed,  the 
green  banks  closed  in,  the  rocks  that  fringed  them 
approached.  Silently  and  gracefully  the  sloop  glided 
on,  until  a  turn  in  the  passage  opened  a  small  land-locked 
haven.  At  the  head  of  the  haven,  barely  a  hundred  yards 
above  high-water  mark,  stood  a  ruined  tower  —  the 
Tower  of  Skull  —  and  below  this  a  long  house  of  stone 
with  a  thatched  roof. 

It  was  clear  that  the  sloop's  movements  had  been 
watched  from  the  shore,  for  although  the  melancholy 
waste  of  moor  and  mountain  disclosed  no  other  habitation, 


ON  BOARD   THE  "CORMORANT"    9 

a  score  of  half-naked,  barefoot  figures  were  gathered  on 
the  jetty;  while  others  could  be  seen  hurrying  down  the 
hillside.  These  cried  to  one  another  in  an  unknown 
tongue,  with  shrill  voices,  which  vied  with  the  screams 
of  the  gulls  swinging  overhead. 

"Stand  by  to  let  go  the  kedge,"  Augustin  cried,  eyeing 
them  gloomily.  "We  are  too  far  in  now!  Let  go!  — 
let  go!" 

But  the  order  and  the  ensuing  action  at  once  redoubled 
the  clamour  on  shore.  A  dozen  of  the  foremost  natives 
flung  themselves  into  crazy  boats,  with  consummate 
skill  and  daring.  When  they  were  within  hail,  a  man, 
wearing  a  long  frieze  coat,  and  a  fisherman's  red  cap, 
stood  up  in  the  bow  of  the  nearest. 

"You  will  be  coming  to  the  jetty.  Captain?"  he  cried 
in  imperfect  English. 

The  skipper  scowled  at  him,  but  did  not  answer. 

"You  will  come  to  the  jetty,  Captain,"  the  man  repeated 
in  his  high,  sing-song  voice.  "Sure,  and  you  've  come 
convenient,  for  there  's  no  one  here  barring  yourselves." 

"And  you're  wanting  brandy!"  Augustin  muttered 
bitterly  under  his  breath.  He  glanced  at  his  men  as 
if  he  meditated  resistance. 

"Kerry  law!  Kerry  law!"  the  man  cried.  "You 
know  it  well.  Captain!  It's  not  I'll  be  answerable  if 
you  don't  come  to  the  jetty." 

The  skipper,  who  had  fared  ill  at  Skull  once  before, 
knew  that  he  was  in  the  men's  power.  True,  a  single 
discharge   of  his   carronades  would   blow   the  boats   to 


10  THE    WILD    GEESE 

pieces;  but  he  could  not  in  a  moment  warp  his  ship  out 
through  the  narrow  passage.  And  if  he  could,  he  knew 
that  the  act  would  be  bloodily  avenged  if  he  ever  landed 
again  in  that  part  of  Ireland.  He  swore  under  his  breath, 
and  the  steersman,  who  had  wrought  the  harm  by  hold- 
ing on  too  long,  wilted  under  his  eye. 

At  length  he  yielded,  sulkily  gave  the  order,  the  wind- 
lass was  manned,  and  the  kedge  drawn  up.  Fenders 
were  lowered,  and  the  sloop  slid  gently  to  the  jetty  side. 

In  a  twinkling  a  score  of  natives  swarmed  aboard. 
The  man  in  the  frieze  coat  followed  more  leisurely,  and 
with  such  dignity  as  became  the  owner  of  a  stone-walled 
house.     He  sauntered  up  to  the  skipper,  a  leer  in  his  eye. 

"You  will  have  lost  something  the  last  time  you  were 
here,  Captain  ?"  he  said.  "  It  is  not  I  that  will  be  respon- 
sible this  time  unless  the  stuff  is  landed." 

Augustin  laughed  scornfully.  "The  cargo  is  for 
Crosby  of  Castlemaine,"  he  said.  And  he  added  various 
things  which  he  hoped  would  happen  to  himself  if  he 
landed  so  much  as  a  single  tub. 

"It 's  little  we  know  of  Crosby  here,"  the  other  replied; 
and  he  spat  on  the  deck.  "And  less  we  '11  be  caring, 
my  dear.  I  say  it  shall  be  landed.  Here,  you,  Darby 
Sullivan,  off  with  the  hatch!" 

Augustin  stepped  forward  impulsively,  as  if  he  had 
a  mind  to  throw  the  gentleman  in  the  frieze  coat  into 
the  sea.  But  he  had  not  armed  himself  before  he  came 
on  deck,  the  men  of  Skull  outnumbered  his  crew  two  to 
pne,  and,  though  savage  and  half-naked,  were  furnished 


ON  BOARD  THE  "CORMORANT"  11 

to  a  man  with  long,  sharp  skenes.  If  resistance  had  been 
possible  at  any  time,  he  had  let  the  moment  pass.  The 
nearest  justice  lived  twelve  Irish  miles  away,  and  had 
he  been  on  the  spot  he  would,  since  he  was  of  necessity 
a  Protestant,  have  been  helpless  —  unless  he  brought 
the  garrison  of  Tralee  at  his  back.  The  skipper  hesitated, 
and  while  he  hesitated  the  hatches  were  off,  and  the 
Sullivans  swarmed  down  like  monkeys.  Before  the 
sloop  could  be  made  fast,  the  smaller  kegs  were  being 
tossed  up,  and  passed  over  the  side,  a  line  was  formed 
on  land,  and  the  cargo,  which  had  last  seen  the  sun  on 
the  banks  of  the  Garonne,  was  swiftly  vanishing  in  the 
maw  of  the  stone  house  on  the  shore 

The  skipper's  rage  was  great,  but  he  could  only  swear, 
and  O'Sullivan  Og,  the  man  in  the  frieze  coat,  who  bore 
him  an  old  grudge,  grinned  in  mockery.  "For  better 
custody,  Captain!"  he  said.  "Under  my  roof,  bien! 
And  when  you  will  to  go  again  there  will  be  the  dues  to 
be  paid,  the  little  dues  over  which  we  quarrelled  last  time! 
And  all  will  be  rendered  to  a  stave!" 

"You  villain!"  the  Captain  muttered  under  his  breath. 
"I  understand!"  Turning  —  for  the  sight  was  more 
than  he  could  bear  —  he  found  his  passenger  at  his 
elbow. 

The  Colonel  liked  the  proceedings  almost  as  little  as 
the  skipper.     His  lips  were  tightly  closed,  and  he  frowned. 

"Ay,"  Augustin  cried  bitterly  —  for  the  first  instinct 
of  the  man  who  is  hurt  is  to  hurt  another  —  "now  you 
see  what  it  is  you  've  come  back  to!     It 's  rob,  or  be 

V 


12  THE    WILD    GEESE 

robbed,  this  side  of  Tralee.  I  wish  you  well  out  of  it! 
But  I  suppose  it  would  take  more  than  this  to  make 
you  draw  that  long  hanger  of  yours?" 

The  Colonel  cast  a  troubled  eye  on  him.  "Beyond 
doubt,"  he  said,  "it  is  the  duty  of  a  man  to  assist  in 
defending  the  house  of  his  host.  And  in  a  sense  and 
measure,  the  goods  of  his  host" — with  an  uneasy  look 
at  the  fast-vanishing  cargo,  which  was  leaping  from 
hand  to  hand  so  swiftly  that  the  progress  of  a  tub  from 
the  hold  to  the  house  was  as  the  flight  of  a  swallow  — 
"are  the  house  of  his  host.  I  do  not  deny  that,"  he  con- 
tinued precisely,  "but " 

"But  in  this  instance,"  the  sea-captain  struck  in  with 
a  sneer,  contempt  for  the  first  time  mastering  wonder. 

"In  this  instance,"  the  Colonel  repeated  with  an 
unmistakable  blush,  "I  am  not  free  to  act.  The  truth  is. 
Captain  Augustin,  these  folk  are  of  my  kin.  I  was  born 
not  many  miles  from  here"  —  his  eye  measured  the 
lonely  landscape  as  if  he  compared  it  with  more  recent 
scenes  —  "and,  wrong  or  right,  blood  is  thicker  than 
wine.  So  that,  frankly,  I  am  not  clear  that  for  the  sake 
of  your  Bordeaux,  I  'm  tied  to  shed  blood  that  might 
be    my   forbears'!" 

"Or  your  grandmother's,"  Augustin  cried,  with  an 
open  sneer. 

"Or  my  grandmother's.  Very  true.  But  if  a  word 
to  them  in  season " 

"Oh,  hang  your  words,"  the  skipper  retorted 
disdainfully. 


ON  BOARD  THE  "CORMORANT"  13 

He  would  have  said  more,  but  at  that  moment  it  became 
clear  that  something  was  happening  on  shore.  On  the 
green  brow  beside  the  tower  a  girl  mounted  on  horseback 
had  appeared;  at  a  cry  from  her  the  men  had  stopped 
work.  The  next  moment  her  horse  came  cantering 
down  the  slope,  and  with  uplifted  whip  she  rode  in  among 
the  men.  The  whip  fell  twice,  and  down  went  all  the 
tubs  within  reach.  Her  voice,  speaking,  now  Erse, 
now  Kerry  English,  could  be  heard  upbraiding  the 
nearest.  Then  on  the  brow  behind  her  appeared  a 
man  who  looked  gigantic  against  the  sky,  and  who  sat 
a  horse  to  match.  He  descended  more  slowly,  and 
reached  the  girl's  side  as  O'Sullivan  Og,  in  his  frieze 
coat,  came  to  the  front  in  support  of  his  men. 

For  a  full  minute  the  girl  vented  her  anger  on  Og, 
while  he  stood  sulky  but  patient,  waiting  for  an  opening 
to  defend  himself.  When  he  obtained  this,  he  seemed 
to  the  two  on  the  deck  of  the  sloop  to  appeal  to  the  big 
man,  who  said  a  word  or  two,  but  was  cut  short  by  the 
girl.  Her  voice,  passionate  and  indignant,  reached  the 
deck,  but   not   her   words. 

"That  should  be  Flavia  McMurrough!"  the  Colonel 
murmured  thoughtfully,  "and  Uncle  Ulick.  He's  little 
changed,  whoever 's  changed!  She  has  a  will,  it  seems, 
and   good   impulses!" 

The  big  man  had  begun  by  frowning  on  O'Sullivan 
Og.  But  presently  he  smiled  at  something  the  latter 
said,  then  he  laughed;  at  last  he  made  a  joke  himself. 
The  girl  turned  on  him;  but  he  argued  with  her.     A 


14  THE    WILD    GEESE 

man  held  up  a  tub  for  inspection,  and  though  she  struck 
it  pettishly  with  her  whip,  it  was  plain  that  she  was 
shaken.  O'Sullivan  Og  pointed  to  the  sloop,  pointed 
to  his  house,  grinned.  The  listeners  on  the  deck  caught 
the  word  "  Dues! "  and  the  peal  of  laughter  that  followed. 

Captain  Augustin  understood  naught  of  what  was 
going  forward.  But  the  man  beside  him,  who  did,  touched 
his  sleeve.     "It  were  well  to  speak  to  her,"  he  said. 

"Who  is  she?"  the  skipper  asked  impatiently.  "What 
has  she  to  do  with  it?" 

"They  are  her  people,"  the  Colonel  answered  simply 
—  "or  they  should  be.  If  she  says  yea,  it  is  yea;  and 
if  she  says  nay,  it  is  nay.  Or,  so  it  should  be  —  as  far 
as  a  league  beyond  Morristown." 

Augustin  waited  for  no  more.  He  was  still  in  a  fog, 
but  he  saw  a  ray  of  hope;  this  was  the  chatelaine,  it 
seemed.     He  bundled  over  the  side. 

Alas!  he  ventured  too  late.  As  his  feet  touched  the 
slippery  stones  of  the  jetty,  the  girl  wheeled  her  horse 
about  with  an  angry  exclamation,  shook  her  whip  at 
O'Sullivan  Og  —  who  winked  the  moment  her  back  was 
turned  —  and  cantered  away  up  the  hill.  On  the  instant 
the  men  picked  up  the  kegs  they  had  dropped,  a  shrill 
cry  passed  down  the  line,  and  the  work  was  resumed. 

But  the  big  man  remained;  and  the  skipper,  with  the 
Colonel  at  his  elbow,  made  for  him  through  the  half- 
naked  kernes.  He  saw  them  coming,  however,  guessed 
their  errand,  and,  with  the  plain  intention  of  avoiding 
them,  he  turned  his  horse's  head. 


ON  BOARD  THE  "CORMORANT"  15 

But  the  skipper,  springing  forward,  was  in  time  to 
seize  his  stirrup.  "Sir,"  he  cried,  "this  is  robbery! 
Nom  de  Dieu,  it  is  thievery!" 

The  big  man  looked  down  at  him  with  temper.  "Oh, 
by  heaven,  you  must  pay  your  dues!"  he  said.  "Oh 
yes,  you  must  pay  your  dues!" 

"But  this  is  robbery." 

"Sure  it 's  not  that  you  must  be  saying!" 

The  Colonel  put  the  skipper  on  one  side.  "By  your 
leave,"  he  cried,  "one  word!  You  don't  know,  sir,  who 
I  am,  but " 

"I  know  you  must  pay  your  dues!"  Uncle  Ulick 
answered,  parrot-like.  "Oh  yes,  you  must  pay  your 
dues!"  He  was  clearly  ashamed  of  his  role,  for  he  shook 
off  the  Colonel's  hold  with  a  pettish  gesture,  struck  his 
horse  with  his  stick,  and  cantered  away  over  the  hill. 

''Vaurien!"  cried  Captain  Augustin,  shaking  his  fist 
after  him,  but  he  might  as  well  have  sworn  at  the  moon. 


CHAPTER  II 

MORRISTOWN 

IT  "WAS  not  until  the  Colonel  had  passed  over  the 
shoulder  above  the  stone-walled  house  that  he 
escaped  from  the  jeers  of  the  younger  members 
of  this  savage  tribe,  who,  noting  something  abnormal 
in  the  fashion  of  the  stranger's  clothes,  followed  him 
a  space.  On  descending  the  farther  slope,  however,  he 
found  himself  alone  in  the  silence  of  the  waste. 
Choosing  without  hesitation  one  of  two  tracks,  ill- 
trodden,  but  such  as  in  that  district  and  at  that 
period  passed  for  roads,  he  took  his  way  along  it  at  a 
good  pace. 

A  wide  brown  basin,  bog  for  the  most  part,  but  rising 
here  and  there  into  low  mounds  of  sward  or  clumps  of 
thorn-trees,  stretched  away  to  the  foot  of  the  hills.  The 
tower  on  the  shoulder  behind  him  had  been  raised  by 
his  wild  forefathers.  Soil  and  sky,  the  lark  which  sang 
overhead,  the  dark  peat-water  which  rose  under  foot,  the 
scent  of  the  moist  air,  the  cry  of  the  curlew,  all  spoke 
of  the  home  which  he  had  left  in  the  gaiety  of  youth,  to 
return  to  it  a  grave  man,  older  than  his  years,  with  gray 
hairs  flecking  the  black.  No  wonder  that  he  stood  more 
than  once,  and,  absorbed  in  thought,  gazed  on  this  or 

16 


MORRISTOWN  17 

that,  on  crag  and  moss,  on  the  things  which  time  and 
experience  had  so  strangely  diminished. 

The  track,  after  zig-zagging  across  a  segment  of  the 
basin,  entered  a  narrow  valley,  drained  by  a  tolerable 
stream.  After  ascending  this  for  a  couple  of  miles,  it 
disclosed  a  view  of  a  wider  vale,  enclosed  by  gentle  hills. 
In  the  lap  of  this  nestled  a  lake,  on  the  upper  end  of  which 
some  beauty  was  conferred  by  a  few  masses  of  rock 
partly  clothed  by  birch  trees,  through  which  a  stream 
fell  sharply  from  the  upland.  Not  far  from  these  rocks 
a  long,  low  house  stood  on  the  shore. 

The  stranger  paused  to  take  in  the  prospect;  nor  was 
it  until  after  the  lapse  of  some  minutes,  spent  in  the  deepest 
reverie,  that  he  pursued  his  way  along  the  left-hand 
bank  of  the  lake.  By-and-by  he  was  able  to  discern, 
amid  the  masses  of  rock  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  a  gray 
tower,  the  twin  of  that  Tower  of  Skull  which  he  had  left 
behind  him;  and  a  hundred  paces  farther  he  came  upon 
a  near  view  of  the  house. 

"Two  and  twenty  years!"  he  murmured.  "There 
is  not  even  a  dog  to  bid  me  welcome!" 

The  house  was  of  two  stories,  with  a  thatched  roof. 
Its  back  was  to  the  slopes  that  rose  by  marshy  terraces 
to  the  hills.  Its  face  was  turned  to  the  lake,  and  between 
it  and  the  water  lay  a  walled  forecourt,  the  angle  on  each 
side  of  the  entrance  protected  by  a  tower  of  an  older 
date  than  the  house.  The  entrance  was  somewhat 
pretentious,  and  might  —  for  each  of  the  pillars  sup- 
ported  a  heraldic  beast  —  have  seemed   to  an  English 


18  THE    WILD    GEESE 

eye  out  of  character  with  the  thatched  roof.  But  one  of 
the  beasts  was  headless,  and  one  of  the  gates  had  fallen 
from  its  hinges.  In  like  manner  the  dignity  of  a  tolerably 
spacious  garden,  laid  out  beside  the  house,  was  marred 
by  the  proximity  of  the  fold-yard. 

On  the  lower  side  of  the  road,  opposite  the  gates,  half 
a  dozen  stone  steps,  that  like  the  heraldic  pillars  might 
have  graced  a  more  stately  mansion,  led  down  to  the 
water.  They  formed  a  resting-place  for  as  many  beggars, 
engaged  in  drawing  at  empty  pipes;  while  twice  as 
many  old  women  sat  against  the  wall  of  the  forecourt 
and,  with  their  drugget  cloaks  about  them,  kept  up  a 
continual  whine.  Among  these,  turning  herself  now  to 
one,  now  to  another,  moved  the  girl  whom  the  Colonel 
had  seen  at  the  landing-place.  She  held  her  riding- 
skirt  uplifted  in  one  hand,  her  whip  in  the  other,  and 
she  was  bareheaded.  At  her  elbow,  whistling  idly,  and 
tapping  his  boots  with  a  switch,  lounged  the  big  man  of 
the  morning. 

As  the  Colonel  approached,  the  man  and  the  maid 
turned  and  looked  at  him.  The  two  exchanged  some 
sentences,  and  the  man  came  forward  to  meet  him. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  not  without  a  touch  of  rough  courtesy, 
"if  it  is  for  hospitality  you  have  come,  you  will  be  wel- 
come at  Morristown.  But  if  it  is  to  start  a  cry  about  this 
morning's  business,  you  Ve  travelled  on  your  ten  toes 
to  no  purpose.'* 

The  Colonel  looked  at  him.  "  Cousin  Ulick,"  he  said,  "  I 
take  your  welcome  as  it  is  meant,  and  I  thank  you  for  it." 


MORRISTOWN  19 

The  big  man's  mouth  opened  wide.  "By  the  Holy 
Cross!"  he  said,  "if  I  'm  not  thinking  it  is  John  SuUi- 
vanl" 

"It  is,"  the  Colonel  answered,  smiling.  And  he  held 
out  his  hand. 

Uncle  Ulick  grasped  it  impulsively.  "And  it's  I'm 
the  one  that 's  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "By  heaven, 
I  am!  Though  I  did  n't  expect  you!  And  faith,  I  'm 
not  sure  that  you  will  be  as  welcome  to  all,  John  Sullivan, 
as  you  are  to  me." 

"You  were  always  easy,  Ulick,"  the  other  answered 
with  a  smile,  "when  you  were  big  and  I  was  little." 

"Ay?  Well,  in  size  we're  much  as  we  were.  But 
—  Flavia!" 

The  girl,  scenting  something  strange,  was  already  at 
his  elbow.  "What  is  it?"  she  asked,  her  breath  coming 
a  little  quickly.  "Who  is  it?"  fixing  her  eyes  on  the 
newcomer's  face. 

Uncle  Ulick  chuckled.  "It's  your  guardian,  my 
jewel,"  he  said.  "No  less!  And  what  he'll  say  to 
what 's  going  on  I  '11  not  be  foretelling!" 

"My    guardian?"    she    repeated,    the    blood    rising 
abruptly  to  her  cheek. 

"Just  that,"  Ulick  Sullivan  answered.  "It's  John 
Sullivan  back  from  Sweden,  and  as  I  've  told  him,  I  'm 
not  sure  that  all  at  Morristown  will  be  as  glad  to  see  him 
as  I  am."  Uncle  Ulick  went  off  into  a  peal  of  Titanic 
laughter. 

But  that  which  amused  him  did  not  appear  to  amuse 


20  THE   WILD   GEESE 

his  niece.  She  stood  staring  at  Colonel  Sullivan  as  if  she 
were  far  more  surprised  than  pleased.  At  length,  and 
with  a  childish  dignity,  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"If  you  are  Colonel  John  Sullivan,"  she  said,  in  a 
thin  voice,  "you  are  welcome  at  Morristown." 

He  might  have  laughed  at  the  distance  of  her  tone, 
but  he  merely  bowed,  and  with  the  utmost  gravity.  "I 
thank  you,"  he  answered.  And  then,  addressing  Ulick 
Sullivan,  "I  need  not  say  that  I  had  your  communication," 
he  continued,  "with  the  news  of  Sir  Michael's  death 
and  of  the  dispositions  made  by  his  will.  I  could  not 
come  at  once,  but  when  I  could  I  did,  and  I  am  here. 
Having  said  so  much,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  the  girl 
with  serious  kindness,  "may  I  add  that  I  think  it  will  be 
well  if  we  leave  matters  of  business  on  one  side  until  we 
know  one  another?" 

"Well,  faith,  I  think  we'd  better,"  Ulick  Sullivan 
chuckled.     "I  do  think  so,  bedad!" 

The  girl  said  nothing,  and  restraint  fell  upon  the  three. 
They  turned  from  one  another  and  looked  across  the 
lake,  which  the  wind,  brisk  at  sea,  barely  ruffled.  Colonel 
Sullivan  remarked  that  they  had  a  little  more  land  under 
tillage  than  he  remembered,  and  Ulick  Sullivan  assented. 
Again  there  was  silence,  until  the  girl  struck  her  habit 
with  her  whip  and  cried  flippantly,  "Well,  to  dinner,  if 
we  are  to  have  dinner  I"  She  turned,  and  led  the  way 
to  the  gate  of  the  forecourt. 

The  man  who  followed  was  clever  enough  to  read 
defiance  in  the  pose  of  her  head  and  resentment  in   her 


M  O  R  R  I  S  T  O  W  N  21 

shoulders.  When  a  beggar-woman,  more  importunate 
than  the  rest,  caught  hold  of  her  skirt,  and  Flavia  flicked 
her  with  her  whip  as  she  would  have  flicked  a  dog,  he 
understood. 

There  were  dogs  in  the  stone-paved  hall;  a  hen,  too, 
finding  its  food  on  the  floor  and  strutting  here  and  there 
as  if  it  had  never  known  another  home.  On  the  left  of 
the  door,  an  oak  table  stood  laid  for  the  midday  meal; 
on  the  right,  before  a  carved  stone  chimney-piece,  under 
which  a  huge  log  smouldered  on  the  andirons,  two  or 
three  men  were  seated.  These  rose  on  the  entrance  of 
the  young  mistress  —  they  were  dependents  of  the  better 
class,  for  whom  open  house  was  kept  at  Morristown. 
So  far,  all  was  well;  yet  it  may  be  that  on  the  instant 
eyes  which  had  been  blind  to  defects  were  opened  by  the 
presence  of  this  stranger  from  the  outer  world.  Flavia's 
voice  was  hard  as  she  asked  old  Darby,  the  butler,  if 
The  McMurrough  was  in  the  house. 

"Faith,  I  believe  not,"  said  he.  "His  Honour,  nor 
the  other  quality,  have  not  returned  from  the  fishing." 

"Well,  let  him  know  when  he  comes  in,"  she  rejoined, 
"that  Colonel  John  Sullivan  has  arrived  from  Sweden, 
and,"  she  added  with  a  faint  sneer,  "it  were  well  if  you 
put  on  your  uniform  coat.  Darby." 

The  old  butler  did  not  hear  the  last  words.  He  was 
looking  at  the  newcomer.  "Glory  be.  Colonel,"  he 
said;  " it 's  in  a  field  of  peas  I  'd  have  known  you!  True 
for  you,  you  're  as  like  the  father  that  bred  you  as  the 
two  covers  of  a  book!    It 's  he  was  the  grand  gentleman! 


22  THEWILD    GEESE 

I  was  beyant  the  Mahoney's  great  gravestone  when  he 
shot  Squire  Crosby  in  the  old  churchyard  of  Tralee  for 
an  appetite  to  his  breakfast!  More  by  token,  he  went 
out  with  the  garrison  officer  after  his  second  bottle  that 
same  day  that  ever  was  —  and  the  creature  shot  him  in 
the  knee  —  bad  luck  to  him  for  a  foreigner  and  a  Protes- 
tant—  and  he  limped  to  his  dying  day!" 

The  girl  laughed  unkindly.  "You  're  opening  your 
mouth  and  putting  your  foot  in  it,  Darby,"  she  said. 
"If  the  Colonel  is  not  a  foreigner " 

"And  sure  he  couldn't  be  that,  and  his  own  father's 
son!"  cried  the  quick-witted  Irishman.  "And  if,  bad 
luck,  he  's  a  Protestant,  I  '11  never  believe  he  's  one  of 
them  through-and-through  black  Protestants  that  you 
and  I  mean !  Glory  be,  it 's  not  in  the  Sullivans  to  be 
one  of  them!" 

The  Colonel  laughed  as  he  shook  the  old  servant's 
hand,  and  Uncle  Ulick  joined  in  the  laugh.  "You're 
a  clever  rogue.  Darby,"  he  said.  "Your  neck '11  never 
be  in  a  rope,  but  your  fingers  will  untie  the  knot!  And 
now,  where  '11  you  put  him?" 

Flavia  tapped  her  foot  on  the  floor;  foreseeing,  perhaps, 
what  was  coming. 

"Put  his  honour?"  Darby  repeated,  rubbing  his  bald 
head.  "Ay,  sure,  where '11  we  put  him?  May  it  be 
long  before  the  heavens  is  his  bed!  There  's  the  old 
master's  room,  a  grand  chamber  fit  for  a  lord,  but  there  's 
a  small  matter  of  the  floor  that  is  sunk  and  lets  in  the 
rats  —  bad  cess  to  the  dogs  for  an  idle,  useless  pack. 


MORRISTOWN  23 

The  young  master's  friends  are  in  the  south,  but  the 
small  room  beyant  that  has  the  camp  truckle  that  Sir 
Michael  brought  from  the  ould  wars:  that 's  dry  and  snug! 
And  for  the  one  window  that 's  airy,  sure,  't  is  no  draw- 
back at  this  sayson." 

"It  will  do  very  well  for  me,  Darby,"  the  Colonel  said, 
smiling. 

"Well,"  Darby  answered,  "I  'm  not  so  sure  where  's 
another.     The  young  masther " 

"That  will  do.  Darby!"  the  girl  cried  impatiently. 
And  then,  "I  am  sorry.  Colonel  Sullivan,"  she  continued 
stifHy,  "that  you  should  be  so  poorly  lodged  —  who  are 
the  master  of  all.  But  doubtless,"  with  an  irrepressible 
resentment  in  her  voice,  "you  will  be  able  presently  to 
put  matters  on  a  better  footing." 

With  a  formal  curtsey  she  retreated  up  the  stairs,  which 
at  the  rear  of  the  hall  ascended  to  a  gallery  that  ran  right 
and  left  to  the  rooms  on  the  first  floor. 

Colonel  Sullivan  turned  with  Uncle  Ulick  to  the  nearest 
window  and  looked  out  on  the  untidy  forecourt.  "You 
know,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  the  men 
beside  the  fire,  who  were  regarding  him  curiously,  could 
not  hear,  "the  gist  of  Sir  Michael's  letters  to  me?" 

Uncle  Ulick  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  window- 
sill.     "Faith,  the  most  of  it,"  he  said. 

"Was  he  right  in  believing  that  her  brother  intended 
to  turn  Protestant  for  the  reasons  he  told  me?" 

"It's  like  enough,   I'm  thinking." 

"Does  she  know?    The  girl?" 


24  THEWILDGEESE 

"Not  a  breath!  And  I  would  not  be  the  one  to  tell 
her,"  Uncle  Ulick  added,  with  some  grimness. 

"Yet  it  may  be  necessary?" 

Uncle  Ulick  shook  his  fist  at  a  particularly  importu- 
nate beggar  who  had  ventured  across  the  forecourt.  "It 's 
a  gift  the  little  people  never  gave  me  to  tell  unpleasant 
things,"  he  said.  "And  if  you  '11  be  told  by  me.  Colonel, 
you  '11  travel  easy.  The  girl  has  a  spirit,  and  you  '11 
not  persuade  her  to  stand  in  her  brother's  light,  at  all, 
at  all!  She  has  it  fast  that  her  grandfather  wronged  him 
—  and  old  Sir  Michael  was  queer-tempered  at  times. 
The  gift  to  her  will  go  for  nothing,  you  '11  see ! " 

"She  must  be  a  noble  girl." 

"Never  a  better!" 

"But  if  her  grandfather  was  right  in  thinking  so  ill  of 
his  grandson?" 

"I'm  not  saying  he  wasn't,"  Uncle  Ulick  muttered. 

"Then  we  must  not  let  her  set  the  will  aside." 

Ulick  Sullivan  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Let?"  he 
said.  "Faith!  it's  but  little  it'll  be  a  question  of  that! 
James  is  for  taking,  and  she's  for  giving!  He's  her 
white  swan.     Who  's   to  hinder?" 

"You." 

"It's  easiness  has  been  my  ruin,  and  faith!  it's  too 
late  to  change." 

"Then  I?" 

Uncle  Ulick  smiled.  "To  be  sure,"  he  said  slily, 
"there's  you,  Colonel." 

"The  whole  estate  is  mine,  you  see,  in  law," 


MORRISTOWN  25 

"Ay,  but  there  's  no  law  west  of  Tralee,"  Uncle  Ulick 
retorted.  "That 's  where  old  Sir  Michael  made  his 
mistake.  I  'd  not  be  knowing  what  would  happen  if  it 
went  about  that  you  were  ousting  them  that  had  the 
right,  and  you  a  Protestant  He  's  not  the  great  favourite, 
James  McMurrough,  and  whether  he  or  the  girl  took 
most  'd  be  a  mighty  small  matter.  But  if  you  think  to 
twist  it,  so  as  to  play  cuckoo  —  though  with  the  height 
of  fair  meaning  and  not  spying  a  silver  penny  of  profit  for 
yourself,  Colonel  —  I  take  leave  to  tell  you  he  's  a  most 
unpopular  bird." 

"But,  Sir  Michael,"  the  Colonel  answered,  "left  all  to 
me  to  that  very  end  —  that  it  might  be  secured  to  the  girl." 

"Sorrow  one  of  me  says  no! "  Ulick  rejoined.  "  But " 

"But  what?"  the  Colonel  replied  politely.  "The 
more  plainly  you  speak  the  more  you  will  oblige  me." 

But  all  that  Ulick  Sullivan  could  be  brought  to  say  at 
that  moment  —  perhaps  he  knew  that  curious  eyes  were  on 
their  conference  — was  that  Kerry  was  "a  mighty  queer 
country,"  and  the  thief  of  the  world  would  n't  know 
what  would  pass  there  by  times.  And  besides,  there  were 
things  afoot  that  he  'd  talk  about  at  another  time. 

Then  he  changed  the  subject  abruptly,  asking  the 
Colonel  if  he  had  seen  a  big  ship  in  the  bay. 

"Wliat  colours?"  the  Colonel  asked  —  the  question 
men  ask  who  have  been  at  sea. 

"Spanish,  maybe,"  Uncle  Ulick  answered  "Did  you 
sight  such  a  one?" 

But  the  Colonel  had  seen  no  big  ship. 


CHAPTER  HI 

A  SCION   OF  KINGS 

THE  family  at  Morristown  had  been  half  an  hour 
at  table,  and  in  the  interval  a  man  of  more 
hasty  judgment  than  Colonel  Sullivan  might 
have  made  up  his  mind  on  many  points.  Whether  the 
young  McMurrough  was  offensive  of  set  purpose,  and 
because  an  unwelcome  guest  was  present,  or  whether  he 
merely  showed  himself  as  he  was  —  an  unlicked  cub  — 
such  a  man  might  have  determined.  But  the  Colonel 
held  his  judgment  in  suspense,  though  he  leaned  to  the 
latter  view  of  the  case. 

At  their  first  sitting  down  the  young  man  had  shown 
his  churlishness.  Beginning  by  viewing  the  Colonel  in 
sulky  silence,  he  had  answered  his  kinsmen's  overtures 
only  by  a  rude  stare  or  a  boorish  word.  His  companions, 
two  squireens  of  his  own  age,  and  much  of  his  own 
kidney,  nudged  him  from  time  to  time,  and  then  the 
three  would  laugh  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  plain  that 
the  stranger  was  the  butt  of  the  jest.  Presently,  over- 
coming the  reluctant  impression  which  Colonel  John's 
manners  made  upon  him,  the  young  man  found  his 
tongue,  and,  glancing  at  his  companions  to  bring  them 
into  the  joke,  "Much  to  have  where  you  come  from, 
Colonel?"  he  asked. 

26 


ASCIONOFKINGS  27 

"As  in  most  places,"  the  Colonel  replied  mildly,  "by 
working  for  it,  or  earning  it  after  one  fashion  or  another. 
Indeed,  my  friend,  country  and  country  are  more  alike, 
except  on  the  outside,  than  is  thought  by  those  who  stay 
at  home." 

"You  Ve  seen  a  wealth  of  countries,  I  'm  thinking?" 
the  youth  asked  with  a  sneer. 

"I  have  crossed  Europe  more  than  once." 

"And  stayed  in  none?" 

"If  you  mean " 

"Faith,  I  mean  you  've  come  back!"  the  young  man 
exclaimed  with  a  loud  laugh,  in  which  his  companions 
joined.  "You  '11  mind  the  song"  —  and  with  a  wink  he 
trolled  out, 

"In  such  contempt,  in  short,  I  fell 
Which  was  a  very  hard  thing. 
They  devilish  badly  used  me  there, 
For  nothing  but  a  farthing. 

"  You  're  better  than  that.  Colonel,  for  the  worst  we 
can  say  of  you  is,  you  's  come  back  a  penny!" 

"If  you  mean  a  bad  one,  come  home,"  the  Colonel 
rejoined,  taking  the  lad  good-humouredly  —  he  was  not 
blind  to  the  flush  of  indignation  which  dyed  Flavia's 
cheeks  —  "I  '11  take  the  wit  for  welcome.  To  be  sure, 
to  die  in  Ireland  is  an  Irishman's  hope,  all  the  world  over." 

"True  for  you.  Colonel! "  Uncle  Ulick  said.  And  "  For 
shame,  James,"  he  continued,  speaking  with  more  stern- 
ness than  was  natural  to  him.  "Faith,  and  if  you  talked 
abroad  as  you  talk  at  home,  you  'd  be  for  having  a  pistol- 


28  THE    WILD    GEESE 

ball  in  your  gizzard  in  the  time  it  takes  you  to  say  your 
prayers  —  if  you  ever  say  them,  my  lad ! " 

"A\Tiat  are  my  prayers  to  you,  I'd  like  to  know?" 
James  retorted  offensively. 

"Easy,  lad,  easy!" 

The  young  man  glared  at  him.  "^Miat  is  it  to  you," 
he  cried  still  more  rudely,  "whether  I  pray  or  no ?" 

"James!  James!"  Flavia  pleaded  under  her  breath. 

"Do  you  be  keeping  your  feet  to  yourself!"  he  cried, 
betraying  her  kindly  manoeuvre.  "And  let  my  shins  be! 
I  want  none  of  your  guiding!  More  by  token,  miss,  don't 
you  be  making  a  sight  of  yourself  as  you  did  this  morning, 
or  you  '11  smart  for  it.  What  is  it  to  you  if  O'SuUivan  Og 
takes  our  dues  for  us  —  and  a  trifle  over  ?  And,  sorra  one 
of  you  doubt  it,  if  ]Mounseer  comes  jawing  here,  it 's  in  the 
peathole  he  '11  find  himself!  Never  the  value  of  a  cork  he 
gets  out  of  me:  that 's  flat!     Eh,  Phelim?" 

"  True  for  you,  McMurrough! "  the  youth  who  sat  beside 
him  answered,  winking.     "  We  '11  soak  him  for  you." 

"So  do  vou  be  taking  a  lesson,  ]Miss  Flawy,"  the  young 
Hector  continued,  "and  don't  you  go  threatening  honest 
folk  w^ith  your  whip,  or  it  '11  be  about  your  own  shoulders 
it  '11  fall !  I  know  w^hat  's  going  on,  and  when  I  want  your 
help,   I'll  ask  it." 

The  girl's  lip  trembled.  "But  it's  robbery,  James," 
she  murmured. 

"Hang  your  robbery!"  he  retorted,  casting  a  defiant 
eye  round  the  table.  "They  '11  pay  our  dues,  and  what 
they  get  back  w^ill  be  their  own!" 


ASCIONOFKINGS  29 

"And  it 's  rich  they  '11  be  with  it!"  Phelim  chuckled. 
"Ay,  faith,  it 's  the  proud  men  they  'II  be  that  day!" 
laughed  Morty,  his  brother. 

"Fine  words,  my  lad,"  Uncle  Ulick  replied  quietly; 
"but  it's  my  opinion  you'll  fall  on  trouble,  and  more 
than  '11  please  you,  with  Crosby  of  Castlemaine.  And 
why,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?  'T  is  a  grand  trade,  and  has  served 
us  well  since  I  can  remember !  Why  can't  you  take  what 's 
fair  out  of  it,  and  let  the  poor  devil  of  a  sea-captain  that  's 
supplied  many  an  honest  man's  table  have  his  own,  and 
go  his  way  ?  Take  my  word  for  it,  it 's  ruing  it  you  '11 
be,  when  all  's  done. 

"It's  not  from  Crosby  of  Castlemaine  I'll  rue  it!" 
James  McMurrough  answered  arrogantly.  "I  '11  shoot 
him  like  a  bog-snipe  if  he  's  sorra  a  word  to  say  to  it! 
That  for  him,  the  black  sneak  of  a  Protestant!"  And  he 
snapped  his  fingers.  "  But  his  day  will  soon  be  past,  and 
we  '11  be  dealing  with  him.  The  toast  is  warming  for  him 
now!" 

Phelim  slapped  his  thigh.  "True  for  you,  McMur- 
rough!    That's  the  talk!" 

"That  's  the  talk!"  chorussed  Morty. 

The  Colonel  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  but  he  caught 
Flavia's  look  of  distress,  and  he  refrained. 

"For  my  part,"  Morty  continued  jovially,  "I  'd  not  wait 
—  for  you  know  what!  The  gentleman's  way  's  the  better; 
early  or  late,  Clare  or  Kerry,  't  is  all  one!  A  drink  of  the 
tea,  a  peppered  devil,  and  a  pair  of  the  beauties  is  an 
Irishman's  morning!" 


30  THEWILDGEESE 

"And  many 's  the  poor  soul  has  to  mourn  it — long 
and  bitterly,"  the  Colonel  said.  His  tender  corn  being 
trod  upon,  he  could  be  silent  no  longer.  "For  shame,  sir, 
for  shame!"  he  added  warmly. 

Morty  stared.  "Begorra,  and  why?"  he  cried,  in  a 
tone  which  proved  that  he  asked  the  question  in  perfect 
innocence. 

"Why?"  Colonel  John  repeated.  For  a  moment,  in 
face  of  prejudices  so  strong,  he  paused.  "  Can  you  ask  me 
when  you  know  how  a  many  life  as  young  as  yours  — 
and  I  take  you  to  be  scarcely,  sir,  in  your  twenties  —  has 
been  forfeit  for  a  thoughtless  word,  an  unwitting  touch, 
a  look;  when  you  know  how  many  a  bride  has  been 
widowed  as  soon  as  wedded,  how  many  a  babe  orphaned 
as  soon  as  born  ?     And  for  what,  sir  ?  " 

"For  the  point  of  honour!"  The  McMurrough  cried. 
Morty,  for  his  part,  was  dumb  with  astonishment. 

"The  point  of  honour?"  the  Colonel  repeated,  more 
slowly,  "what  is  it?  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  the  fear  of 
seeming  to  be  afraid.  In  the  tenth  —  the  desire  to  wipe 
out  a  stain  that  blood  leaves  as  deep  as  before! " 

"Faith,  and  you  surprise  me!"  Phelim  cried  with  a 
genuine  naivete  that  at  another  time  would  have  provoked 
a  smile. 

"Kerry  '11  more  than  surprise  you,"  quoth  The  McMur- 
rough rudely,  "if  it 's  that  way  you  '11  be  acting!  Would 
you  let  Crosby  of  Castlemaine  call  you  thief?" 

"I  would  not  thieve!"  the  Colonel  replied. 

There  was  a  stricken  silence  for  a  moment.     Then  The 


ASCIONOFKINGS  31 

McMurrough  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  querulous  face  flushed 
with  rage,  his  arm  raised.  But  Ulick's  huge  hand  dragged 
him  down.  "Easy,  lad,  easy,"  he  cried,  restraining  the 
young  man.     " He 's  your  guest ;  remember  that!" 

"And  he  spoke  in  haste,"  the  Colonel  said.  "I  with- 
draw my  words,"  he  continued,  rising  and  frankly  holding 
out  his  hand.  "  I  recognize  that  I  was  wrong.  I  see  that 
the  act  bears  in  your  eyes  a  different  aspect,  and  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir." 

The  McMurrough  took  the  hand,  though  he  took  it 
sullenly;  and  the  Colonel  sat  down  again.  His  action, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  words,  left  Phelim  and  Morty  in  a 
state  of  amazement  so  profound  that  the  two  sat  staring 
as  if  carved  out  of  the  same  block  of  wood. 

If  Colonel  John  noticed  their  surprise  he  seemed  in  no 
way  put  out  by  it.  "  Perhaps,"  he  said  gently,  "  it  is  wrong 
to  thrust  opinions  on  others  unasked.  I  think  that  is  so! 
It  should  be  enough  to  act  upon  them  one's  self,  and 
refrain  from  judging  others." 

The  Colonel  was  a  Sullivan  and  an  Irishman,  and  it 
was  supposed  that  he  had  followed  the  wars.  Whence, 
then,  these  strange  words,  these  unheard-of  opinions? 
Morty  felt  his  cheek  flush  with  the  shame  which  Colonel 
John  should  have  felt;  and  Phelim  grieved  for  the  family. 
The  gentleman  might  be  mad;  it  was  charitable  to  think 
he  was.  But,  mad  or  sane,  he  was  like,  they  feared,  to 
be  the  cause  of  sad  misunderstanding  in  the  country 
round. 

The  McMurrough,  of  a  harder  and  less  generous  nature 


32  THEWILD    GEESE 

than  his  companions,  felt  more  contempt  than  wonder. 
The  man  had  insulted  him  grossly,  and  had  apologized 
as  abjectly;  that  was  his  view  of  the  incident.  He  was 
the  first  to  break  the  silence.  "Sure,  it  's  very  well  for  the 
gentleman  it 's  in  the  family,"  he  said  dryly.  "Tail  up, 
tail  down,  's  all  one  among  friends.  But  if  he  '11  be  so 
quick  with  his  tongue  in  Tralee  Market,  he  '11  chance  on 
one  here  and  there  that  he  '11  not  blarney  so  easily!  Eh, 
Morty?" 

"I  'm  fearing  so,  too,"  said  Phelim  pensively.  Morty 
did  not  answer.     "  'T  is  a  queer  world,"  Phelim  added. 

"And  all  sorts  in  it,"  The  McMurrough  cried,  his  tone 
more  arrogant  than  before. 

Flavia  glanced  at  him,  frowning.  "Let  us  have  peace 
now,"  she  said. 

"Peace  ?  Sorrow  a  bit  of  war  there  's  like  to  be  in  the 
present  company!"  the  victor  cried.  And  he  began  to 
whistle,  amid  an  awkward  silence.  The  air  he  chose  was 
one  well  known  at  that  day,  and  when  he  had  whistled  a 
few  bars,  one  of  the  buckeens  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table 
began  to  sing  the  words  softly. 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 

We  left  fair  Ireland's  strand! 
It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
We  e'er  saw  foreign  land,  my  dear, 

We  e'er  saw  foreign  land! 

"My  dear,  or  no,  you  '11  be  doing  well  to  be  careful!" 
The  McMurrough  said,  in  a  jeering  tone,  with  his  eye  on 
the  Colonel. 


ASCIONOFKINGS  33 

"Pho!"  the  man  replied.  "And  I  that  have  heard  the 
young  mistress  sing  it  a  score  of  times!" 

"Ay,  but  not  in  this  company!"  The  McMurrough 
rejoined. 

Colonel  John  looked  round  the  table.  "If  you  mean," 
he  said  quietly,  "  that  I  am  a  loyal  subject  of  King  George, 
I  am  that.  But  what  is  said  at  my  host's  table,  no  matter 
who  he  is,  is  safe  for  me.  Moreover,  I  've  lived  long 
enough  to  know,  gentlemen,  that  most  said  is  least  meant, 
and  that  the  theme  of  a  lady's  song  is  more  often  —  sunset 
than  sunrise! "     And  he  bowed  in  the  direction  of  the  girl. 

The  McMurrough's  lip  curled.  "Fair  words,"  he 
sneered.  "And  easy  to  speak  them,  when  you  and  your 
Protestant  Whigs  are  on  top!" 

"We  won't  talk  of  Protestants,"  Colonel  John  replied; 
and  for  the  first  time  his  glance,  keen  as  the  flicker  of  steel, 
crossed  The  McMurrough's.  The  younger  man's  eyes  fell. 

The  cudgels  were  taken  up  in  an  unexpected  quarter.  "I 
know  nothing  of  Protestants  in  general,"  Flavia  said,  in  a 
voice  vibrating  with  eagerness,  "  but  only,  to  our  sorrow,  of 
those  who  through  centurieshave  robbed  us !  Who,notcon- 
tent,  shame  on  them !  with  shutting  us  up  in  a  corner  of  the 
land  that  was  ours  from  sea  to  sea,  deny  us  even  here  the 
protection  of  their  law!  Law?  Can  you  call  it  law  which 
denies  us  all  natural  rights,  all  honourable  employments; 
which  drives  us  abroad,  divides  son  from  father,  and 
brother  from  brother;  which  bans  our  priests,  and  forbids 
our  worship,  and,  if  it  had  its  will,  would  leave  no  Catholic 
from  Cape  Clear  to  Killaloe  ? " 


34  THEWILDGEESE 

The  Colonel  looked  sorrowfully  at  her,  but  made  no 
answer;  for  to  much  of  what  she  said  no  answer  could  be 
made.  On  the  other  hand,  a  murmur  passed  round  the 
board;  and  more  than  one  looked  at  the  stranger  with 
compressed  lips.  "If  you  had  your  will,"  the  girl  con- 
tinued, with  growing  emotion;  "if  your  law  were  carried 
out  —  as,  thank  God!  it  is  not,  no  man's  heart  being  hard 
enough  —  to  possess  a  pistol  were  to  be  pilloried;  to 
possess  a  fowling-piece  were  to  be  whipped;  to  own  a 
horse,  above  the  value  of  a  miserable  garron,  were  to  be 
robbed  by  the  first  rascal  who  passed!  We  must  not  be 
soldiers,  nor  sailors,"  she  continued;  "  nay"  —  with  bitter 
irony  —  "we  may  not  be  constables  nor  gamekeepers! 
The  courts,  the  bar,  the  bench  of  our  fatherland,  are  shut 
tons!  We  may  have  neither  school  nor  college;  the  lands 
that  were  our  fathers'  must  be  held  for  us  by  Protestants, 
and  it's  I  must  have  a  Protestant  guardian!  We  are 
outlaws  in  the  dear  land  that  is  ours;  we  dwell  on  suffer- 
ance where  our  fathers  ruled !  And  men  like  you,  aban- 
doning their  country,  abandoning  their  creed " 

"God  forbid!"  the  Colonel  exclaimed,  much  moved 

himself. 

"Men  like  you  uphold  these  things!" 

"God  forbid!"  he  repeated. 

"But  let  Him  forbid,  or  not  forbid,"  she  retorted,  rising 
from  her  seat  with  eyes  that  flashed  anger  through  tears, 
"we  exist,  and  shall  exist!  And  the  time  is  coming,  and 
comes  soon  —  ay,  comes  perhaps  to-day!  —  when  we  who 
now  suffer  for  the  true  faith  and  the  rightful  King  will  raise 


A    SCION    OF    KINGS  35 

our  heads,  and  the  Faithful  Land  shall  cease  to  mourn  and 
honest  men  to  pine!  And,  ah"  —  with  upraised  face  and 
clasped  hands  —  "I  pray  for  that  day!  I  pray  for  that 
day!     I " 

She  broke  off  amid  cries  of  applause,  fierce  as  the  bark- 
ing of  wolves.  She  struggled  for  a  moment  with  her 
overmastering  emotion,  then,  unable  to  continue  or  to 
calm  herself,  she  turned  from  the  table  and  fled  weeping 
up  the  stairs. 

Colonel  John  had  risen.  He  watched  her  go  with  deep 
feeling;  he  turned  to  his  seat  again  with  a  sigh.  He  was 
a  shade  paler  than  before,  and  the  eyes  which  he  bent  on 
the  board  were  dark  with  thought.  He  was  unconscious 
of  all  that  passed  round  him,  and,  if  aware,  he  was  heedless 
of  the  strength  of  the  passions  which  she  had  unbridled  — 
until  a  hand  fell  on  his  arm. 

He  glanced  up  then  and  saw  that  all  the  men  had  risen, 
and  were  looking  at  him  —  even  Ulick  Sullivan  —  with 
dark  faces.  A  passion  of  anger  clouded  their  gaze.  With- 
out a  word  spoken,  they  were  of  one  mind.  The  hand 
that  touched  him  trembled,  the  voice  that  broke  the  silence 
shook  under  the  weight  of  the  speaker's  feelings. 

"You  '11  be  leaving  here  this  day,"  the  man  muttered. 

"I?"  the  Colonel  said,  taken  by  surprise.  "Not  at 
all." 

"We  wish  you  no  harm,  but  to  see  your  back." 

The  Colonel,  his  first  wonder  subdued,  looked  from  one 
to  another.     "I  am  sure  you  wish  me  no  harm,"  he  said. 

"None,  but  to  see  your  back,"  the  man  repeated,  while 


36  THE     WILD    GEESE 

his  companions  looked  down  at  the  Colonel  with  a  strange 
fixedness. 

"But  I  cannot  go,"  the  Colonel  answered,  as  gently  as 
before. 

"And  why?"  the  man  returned.  The  McMurrough 
was  not  of  the  speakers,  but  stood  behind  them,  glowering 
at  him  with  a  dark  face. 

"Because,"  the  Colonel  answered,  "I  am  in  my  duty 
here,  my  friends;  and  the  man  who  is  in  his  duty  can  suffer 
nothing." 

"He  can  die,"  the  man  replied,  breathing  hard.  The 
men  who  were  on  the  Colonel's  side  of  the  table  leant  more 
closely  about  him. 

But  he  seemed  unmoved.  "That,"  he  replied  cheer- 
fully, "  is  nothing.  To  die  is  but  an  accident.  Who  dies 
in  his  duty  suffers  no  harm.  And  were  that  not  enough 
—  and  it  is  all,"  he  continued  slowly,  "what  harm  should 
happen  to  me,  a  Sullivan  among  Sullivans?  Because  I 
have  fared  far  and  seen  much,  am  I  so  changed  that, 
coming  back,  I  shall  find  no  welcome  on  the  hearth  of  my 
race,  and  no  shelter  where  my  fathers  lie  ?  " 

"And  are  not  our  hearths  cold  over  many  a  league? 
And  the  graves " 

"Whisht!"  a  voice  broke  in  sternly,  as  Uncle  Ulick 
thrust  his  way  through  the  group.  "The  man  says  well! " 
he  continued.     "He's  a  Sullivan " 

"He  's  a  Protestant!" 

"He  is  a  Sullivan,  I  say!"  Uncle  Ulick  retorted,  "were 
he  the  blackest  heretic  on  the  sod!     And  you,  would  you 


A    SCION    OF    KINGS  37 

do  the  foul  deed  for  a  woman's  wet  eye  ?  Are  the  hearts  of 
Kerry  turned  as  hard  as  its  rocks  ?  Make  an  end  of  this 
prating  and  fooHshness!  And  you,  James  McMurrough, 
these  are  your  men  and  this  is  your  house  ?  Will  you  be 
telling  them  at  once  that  you  will  be  standing  between 
him  and  harm,  be  he  a  heretic  ten  times  over  ?  For  shame, 
man !  Is  it  for  raising  the  corp  of  old  Sir  Michael  from  his 
grave  ye  are?" 

The  McMurrough  looked  sombrely  at  the  big  man. 
"  On  you  be  the  risk,"  he  said  sullenly.  "You  know  what 
you  know." 

"I  know  that  the  seal  in  the  cave  and  the  seal  on  the 
wave  are  one  !"  Ulick  answered  vehemently.  "Whisht, 
man,  whisht,  and  make  an  end!  And  do  you,  John  Sulli- 
van, give  no  thought  to  these  omadhauns,  but  come  with 
me  and  I  '11  show  you  to  your  chamber.  A  woman's 
tear  is  ever  near  her  smile.  With  her  the  good  thought 
treads  ever  on  the  heel  of  the  bad  word!" 

"I  have  little  knowledge  of  them,"  Colonel  John 
answered  quietly. 

But  when  he  was  above  with  Uncle  Ulick,  he  spoke. 
"I  hope  that  this  is  but  wild  talk,"  he  said.  "You  cannot 
remember,  nor  can  I,  the  bad  days.  But  the  little  that  is 
left,  it  were  madness  and  worse  than  madness  to  risk! 
If  you  've  thought  of  a  rising,  in  God's  name  put  it  from 
you.  Think  of  your  maids  and  your  children!  I  have 
seen  the  fires  rise  from  too  many  roofs,  I  have  heard  the 
wail  of  the  homeless  too  often,  I  have  seen  too  many 
frozen  corpses  stand  for  milestones  by  the  road,  I  have 


38  THE     WILD    GEESE 

wakened  to  the  creak  of  too  many  gibbets  —  to  face  these 
things  in  my  own  land!" 

Uncle  Ulick  was  looking  from  the  little  casement.  He 
turned,  and  showed  a  face  working  with  agitation.  *' And 
you,  if  you  wore  no  sword,  nor  dared  wear  one  ?  If  you 
walked  in  Tralee  a  clown  among  gentlefolk,  if  you  lived  a 
pariah  in  a  corner  of  pariahs,  if  your  land  were  the  hand- 
maid of  nations,  and  the  vampire  crouched  upon  her 
breast,  what  —  what  would  you  do,  then  ?" 

"Wait,"  Colonel  John  answered  gravely,  "until  the  time 
came." 

Uncle  Ulick  gripped  his  arm,  "And  if  it  came  not  in 
your  time?" 

"Still  wait,"  Colonel  John  answered  with  solemnity. 
"For  believe  me,  Ulick  Sullivan,  there  is  no  deed  that  has 
not  its  reward !  Not  does  one  thatch  go  up  in  smoke  that 
is  not  paid  for  a  hundredfold." 

"Ay,  but  when?     When?" 

"When  the  time  is  ripe." 


CHAPTER  IV 

"stop  thief!" 

A  CANDID  Englishman  must  own  and  deplore  the 
fact  that  Flavia  McMurrough's  tears  were  due 
^  to  the  wrongs  of  her  country.  Broken  by  three 
great  wars  waged  by  three  successive  generations,  defeated 
in  the  last  of  three  desperate  struggles  for  liberty,  Ireland 
at  this  period  lay  like  a  woman  swooning  at  the  feet  of 
her  captors.  Nor  were  these  minded  that  she  should  rise 
again  quickly,  or  in  her  natural  force.  The  mastery  which 
they  had  won  by  the  sword  the  English  were  resolved  to 
keep  by  the  law. 

They  were  determined  that  the  Irishman  of  the  old 
faith  should  cease  to  exist;  or,  if  he  endured,  should  be 
nemo,  no  one.  Confined  to  hell  or  Connaught,  he  must 
not  even  in  the  latter  possess  the  ordinary  rights.  He  must 
not  will  his  own  lands  or  buy  new  lands.  If  his  son,  more 
sensible  than  he,  "went  over,"  the  father  sank  into  a  mere 
life-tenant,  bound  to  furnish  a  handsome  allowance,  and 
to  leave  all  to  the  Protestant  heir.  He  might  not  marry  a 
Protestant,  he  might  not  keep  a  school,  nor  follow  the 
liberal  professions.  The  priest  who  confessed  him  was 
banished  if  known,  and  hanged  if  he  returned.  In  a 
country  of  sportsmen  he  might  not  own  a  fowling-piece, 

89 


40  THE    WILD    GEESE 

nor  a  horse  worth  more  than  five  pounds;  and  in  days 
when  every  gentleman  carried  a  sword  at  his  side,  he  must 
not  wear  one.  Finally,  his  country  grew  but  one  article 
of  great  value  —  wool:  and  that  he  must  not  make  into 
cloth,  but  he  must  sell  it  to  England  at  England's  price  — 
which  was  one-fifth  of  the  continental  price.  Was  it 
wonderful  that,  such  being  Ireland's  status,  every  Roman 
Catholic  of  spirit  sought  fortune  abroad;  that  the  wild 
geese,  as  they  were  called,  went  and  came  unchecked;  or 
that  every  inlet  in  Galway,  Clare,  and  Kerry  swarmed 
with  smugglers,  who  ran  in  under  the  green  flag  with 
brandy  and  claret,  and,  running  out  again  with  wool, 
laughed  to  scorn  England's  boast  that  she  ruled  the  waves  ? 

Nor  was  it  surprising  that,  spent  and  helpless  as  ihe  land 
lay,  some  sanguine  spirits  still  clung  to  visions  of  a  change 
and  of  revenge.  The  Sullivans  of  Morristown  and  Skull 
were  of  these;  as  were  some  of  their  neighbours.  And 
Flavia  was  especially  of  these.  As  she  looked  from  her 
window  a  day  or  two  after  the  Colonel's  arrival,  as  she 
sniffed  the  peat  reek  and  plumbed  the  soft  distances 
beyond  the  lake,  she  was  lost  in  such  a  dream;  until  her 
eyes  fell  on  a  man  seated  cross-legged  under  a  tree  between 
herself  and  the  shore.  And  she  frowned.  The  man 
sorted  ill  with  her  dream. 

It  was  Bale,  Colonel  John's  servant.  He  was  mending 
some  article  taken  from  his  master's  wardrobe.  His 
elbow  went  busily  to  and  fro  as  he  plied  the  needle,  while 
sprawling  on  the  sod  about  him  half  a  dozen  gossoons 
watched  him  inquisitively. 


"STOP    THIEF"  41 

Perhaps  it  was  the  suggestive  contrast  between  his 
dihgence  and  their  idleness  which  irritated  Flavia;  but 
she  set  down  her  annoyance  to  another  cause.  The  man 
was  an  Enghshman,  and  therefore  an  enemy:  and  what 
did  he  there  ?     Had  the  Colonel  left  him  on  guard  ? 

Flavia's  heart  swelled  at  the  thought.  Here,  at  least, 
she  and  hers  were  masters.  Colonel  John  had  awakened 
mixed  feelings  in  her.  At  times  she  admired  him.  But, 
admirable  or  not,  he  should  rue  his  insolence,  if  he  had  it  in 
his  mind  to  push  his  authority,  or  interfere  with  her  plans. 

In  the  meantime  she  stood  watching  William  Bale,  and 
a  desire  to  know  more  of  the  man,  and  through  him  of  the 
master,  rose  within  her.  The  house  was  quiet.  The 
McMurrough  and  his  following  had  gone  to  a  cocking- 
match  and  race-meeting  at  Joyce's  Corner.  She  went 
down  the  stairs,  took  her  hood,  and  crossed  the  courtyard. 
Bale  did  not  look  up  at  her  approach,  but  he  saw  her  out 
of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  and  when  she  paused  before  him 
he  laid  down  his  work  and  made  as  if  he  would  rise. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  superciliousness  not  natural 
to  her.  "Are  all  the  men  tailors  where  you  come  from?" 
she  asked.     "  There,  you  need  not  rise." 

"Where  I  came  from  last,"  he  replied,  "we  were  all 
trades,  my  lady." 

"Have  you  been  a  soldier  long?"  she  asked,  feeling 
herself  rebuffed. 

"Twenty-one  years,  my  lady." 

"And  now  you  have  done  with  it." 

"It  is  as  his  honour  pleases." 


42  THEWILDGEESE 

She  frowned.  He  had  a  way  of  speaking  that  sounded 
uncivil  to  ears  attuned  to  the  soft  Irish  accent  and  the 
wheedling  tone.  Yet  the  man  interested  her,  and  after  a 
moment's  silence  she  fixed  her  eyes  more  intently  on  his 
work.  "Did  you  lose  your  fingers  in  battle ?"  she  asked. 
His  right  hand  was  maimed. 

"  No,"  he  answered  —  grudgingly,  as  he  seemed  to 
answer  all  her  questions  —  "in  prison." 

" In  prison  ? "  she  repeated ;  "where  ? " 

He  cast  an  upward  look  at  his  questioner. 

"In  the  Grand  Turk's  land,"  he  said.  "Nearer  than 
that,  I  can't  say.     I  'm  no  scholar,  my  lady." 

"  But  why  ?  "  she  asked,  puzzled.   "  I  don't  understand." 

"Cut  off,"  he  said,  stooping  over  his  work. 

Flavia  turned  a  shade  paler.     "  Why  ?"  she  repeated. 

"'One  God,  and  Mohommed  His  prophet'  —  could  n't 
swallow  it.  One  finger!"  the  man  answered  jerkily. 
"Next  week  —  same.     Third  week " 

"Third  week?"  she  murmured,  shuddering. 

"Exchanged." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  with  an  effort  from  his  maimed  hand. 
"How  many  were  you?"  she  inquired. 

"Thirty-four."  He  laughed  drily.  "We  know  one 
another  when  we  meet,"  he  said.  He  drew  his  waxed 
thread  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  held  it  up  to  the  light, 
then  looked  askance  at  the  gossoons  about  him,  to  whom 
what  he  said  was  gibberish.     They  knew  only  Erse. 

The  day  was  still,  the  mist  lay  on  the  lake,  and  under  it 
the  water  gleamed,  a  smooth  pale  mirror.     Flavia  had  seen 


"STOP    THIEF"  43 

it  so  a  hundred  times,  and  thought  naught  of  it.  But 
to-day,  moved  by  what  she  had  heard,  the  prospect  spoke 
of  a  remoteness  from  the  moving  world  which  depressed 
her.  Hitherto  the  quick  pulse  and  the  energy  of  youth 
had  left  her  no  time  for  melancholy,  and  not  much  for 
thought.  If  at  rare  intervals  she  had  felt  herself  lonely,  if 
she  had  been  tempted  to  think  that  the  brother  in  whom 
were  centred  her  hopes,  her  affections,  and  her  family 
pride  was  hard  and  selfish,  rude  and  overbearing,  she  had 
told  herself  that  all  men  were  so;  that  all  men  rode  rough- 
shod over  their  women.  And  that  being  so,  who  had  a 
better  right  to  hector  it  than  the  last  of  the  McMurroughs, 
heir  of  the  Wicklow  kings,  who  in  days  far  past  had  dealt 
on  equal  terms  with  Richard  Plantagenet,  and  to  whom, 
by  virtue  of  that  never-forgotten  kingship,  the  Sullivans 
and  Mahonies,  some  of  the  McCarthys,  and  all  the 
O'Beirnes,  paid  rude  homage?  With  such  feelings  Sir 
Michael's  strange  whim  of  disinheriting  the  heir  of  his  race 
had  but  drawn  her  closer  to  her  brother.  To  her  loyalty 
the  act  was  abhorrent,  one  that  could  only  have  sprung, 
she  was  certain,  from  second  childhood,  the  dotage  of  a 
man  close  on  ninety,  whose  early  years  had  been  steeped 
in  trouble,  and  who  loved  her  so  much  that  he  was  ready 
to  do  wrong  for  her  sake. 

Often  she  differed  from  her  brother.  But  he  was  a  man, 
she  told  herself;  and  he  must  be  right  —  a  man's  life  could 
not  be  ruled  by  the  laws  which  a  woman  observed.  For 
the  rest,  for  herself,  if  her  life  seemed  solitary  she  had  the 
free  air  and  the  mountains;  she  had  her  dear  land;  above 


44  THEWILDGEESE 

all,  she  had  her  dreams.  Perhaps  when  these  were  real- 
ized —  and  the  time  seemed  very  near  now  —  and  a  new 
Ireland  was  created,  to  her  too  a  brighter  world  would 
open. 

She  had  forgotten  Bale's  presence,  and  was  only  recalled 
to  every-day  life  by  the  sound  of  voices.  Four  men  were 
approaching  the  house.  Uncle  Ulick,  Colonel  John,  and 
the  French  skipper  were  three  of  these;  at  the  sight  of  the 
fourth  Flavia's  face  fell.  Luke  Asgill  of  Batterstown  was 
the  nearest  justice,  and  of  necessity  he  was  a  Protestant. 
But  it  was  not  this  fact,  nor  the  certainty  that  Augustin 
was  pouring  his  wrongs  into  his  ears,  that  affected  Flavia. 
Asgill  was  distasteful  to  her,  because  her  brother  affected 
him.  For  why  should  her  brother  have  relations  with  a 
Protestant?  Why  should  he,  a  man  of  the  oldest  blood, 
stoop  to  intimacy  with  the  son  of  a  "middleman,"  one  of 
those  who,  taking  a  long  lease  of  a  great  estate  and  under- 
letting at  rack  rents,  made  at  this  period  huge  fortunes? 
Finally,  if  he  must  have  relations  with  him,  why  did  he  not 
keep  him  at  a  distance  from  his  home  —  and  his  sister  ? 

It  was  too  late,  or  she  would  have  slipped  away.  Not 
that  Asgill  —  he  was  a  stout,  dark,  civil-spoken  man  of 
thirty-three  or  four  —  wore  a  threatening  face.  He 
greeted  Flavia  with  an  excess  of  politeness  which  she  could 
have  spared;  and  while  Uncle  Ulick  and  Colonel  John 
looked  perturbed  and  ill  at  ease,  he  jested  on  the  matter. 

"The  whole  cargo?"  he  said,  with  one  eye  on  the 
Frenchman  and  one  on  his  companions.  "You're  not 
for  stating  that,  sir?" 


"STOP   THIEF"  45 

"All  the  tubs,"  Augustin  answered  in  a  passion  of 
earnestness. 

"The  saints  be  between  us  and  harm! "  Asgill  responded. 
"Are  you  hearing  this,  Miss  Flavia?  It's  no  less  than 
felony  that  you  're  accused  of,  and  I  'm  thinking,  by  rights, 
I  must  arrest  you  and  carry  you  to  Batterstown." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  she  answered  stiffly.  "And 
The  McMurrough  is  not  at  home." 

"Gone  out  of  the  way,  eh?"  Asgill  replied  with  a 
deprecatory  grin.  "And  the  whole  cargo  was  it, 
Captain?" 

"All  the  tubs,  perfectly!" 

"You'd  paid  your  dues,  of  course?" 

"Dues,  mon  Dieu!    But  they  take  the  goods!" 

"Had  you  paid  your  dues?" 

"Not  already,  because " 

"That 's  unfortunate,"  Asgill  answered  in  a  tone  of 
mock  condolence.  "Mighty  unfortunate!"  He  winked 
at  Uncle  Ulick.  "Port  dues,  you  know.  Captain,  must  be 
paid  before  the  ship  slips  her  moorings." 

"But " 

"  Mighty  unfortunate ! " 

"But  what  are  the  dues?"  poor  Augustin  cried,  dimly 
aware  that  he  was  being  baited. 

"All,  you're  talking  now,"  the  magistrate  answered 
glibly.  "  Unluckily,  that 's  not  in  my  province.  I  'm 
made  aware  that  the  goods  are  held  under  lien  for  dues, 
and  I  can  do  nothing.     Upon  payment,  of  course " 

"But  how  much?   Eh, sir?  How  much?    How  much?" 


46  THEWILDGEESE 

Luke  Asgill,  who  had  two  faces,  and  for  once  was  minded 
to  let  both  be  seen,  enjoyed  the  Frenchmen's  perplexity. 
He  wished  to  stand  well  with  Flavia,  and  here  was  a  rare 
opportunity  of  exhibiting  at  once  his  friendliness  and  his 
powers  of  drollery.  He  was  therefore  taken  aback,  when 
a  grave  voice  cut  short  his  enjoyment. 

"Still,  if  Captain  Augustin,"  the  voice  interposed,  "is 
willing  to  pay  a  reasonable  sum  on  account  of  dues?" 

The  magistrate  turned  about  abruptly.  "Eh?"  he 
said.     "Oh,  Colonel  Sullivan,  is  it?" 

"Then,  doubtless,  the  goods  will  be  released,  so  that  he 
may  perform  his  duty  to  his  customer." 

Asgill  had  only  known  the  Colonel  a  few  minutes,  and, 
aware  that  he  was  one  of  the  family,  he  did  not  see  how  to 
take  it.  It  was  as  if  treason  lifted  its  head  in  the  camp. 
He  coughed. 

"I'd  not  be  denying  it,"  he  said.  "But  until  The 
McMurrough  returns " 

"Such  a  matter  is  doubtless  within  Mr.  Sullivan's 
authority,"  the  Colonel  said,  turning  from  him  to  Uncle 
Ulick. 

Uncle  Ulick  showed  his  embarrassment.  "Faith,  I 
don't  know  that  it  is,"  he  said. 

"If  Captain  Augustin  paid,  say,  twenty  per  cent,  on  his 
bills  of  lading " 

"Ma  foi,  twenty  per  cent.!"  the  Captain  exclaimed  in 
astonishment.  "Twenty  —  but  yes,  I  will  pay  it.  I 
will  pay  even  that.  Of  what  use  to  throw  the  handle  after 
the  hatchet?" 


"STOP  THIEF"  47 

Luke  Asgill  thought  the  Colonel  very  simple.  "Well, 
I  've  nothing  to  say  to  this,  at  all!"  he  said,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.     "It  's  not  within  my  province." 

Colonel  John  looked  at  the  girl  in  a  way  in  which  he  had 
not  looked  at  her  before;  and  she  found  herself  speaking 
before  she  knew  it.  "Yes,"  she  cried  impulsively;  "let 
that  be  done,  and  the  goods  be  given  up!" 

"But  The  McMurrough?"  Asgill  began. 

"I  will  answer  for  him,"  she  said  impulsively.  "Uncle 
Ulick,  go,  I  beg,  and  see  it  done." 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  Colonel  Sullivan  said.  "And 
doubtless  Mr.  Asgill  will  accompany  us,  to  lend  the  weight 
of  his  authority  in  the  event  of  any  difficulty  arising." 

Asgill's  countenance  fell.  He  was  between  two  stools, 
for  he  had  no  mind  to  displease  Flavia  or  thwart  her 
brother.  At  length,  "No,"  he  said,  "I  'II  not  be  doing 
anything  in  The  McMurrough's  absence." 

Colonel  John  looked  in  the  same  strange  fashion  at 
Flavia.  "I  have  legal  power  to  act,  sir,"  he  said,  "as  I 
can  prove  to  you  in  private.  And  that  being  so,  I  must 
certainly  ask  you  to  lend  me  the  weight  of  your  authority." 

"And  I  will  be  hanged  if  I  do!"  Asgill  cried.  There 
was  a  change  in  his  tone,  and  the  reason  was  not  far  to 
seek.     "Here's  The  McMurrough!" 

They  all  turned  and  looked  along  the  road  which  ran 
by  the  edge  of  the  lake.  With  James  McMurrough,  who 
was  still  a  furlong  away,  were  the  two  O'Beirnes.  They 
came  slowly,  and  something  in  their  bearing,  even  at  that 
distance,  awoke  anxiety. 


48  THEWILD    GEESE 

"They  're  early  from  the  cocking,"  Uncle  Ulick  mut- 
tered doubtfully,  "and  sober  as  pigs!  What 's  the  mean- 
ing of  that?     There  's  something  amiss,  I  'm  fearing." 

A  cry  from  Flavia  proved  the  keenness  of  her  eyes. 
"Where  is  Giralda?"  she  exclaimed.  "Where  is  the 
mare  ?  " 

"Ay,  what  have  they  done  with  the  mare  ?"  Uncle  Ulick 
said  in  a  tone  of  consternation.  "Have  they  lamed  her, 
I  'm  wondering  ?  The  garron  Morty  's  riding  is  none  of 
ours." 

"I  begged  him  not  to  take  her!"  Flavia  cried,  anger 
contending  with  her  grief.  Giralda,  her  gray  mare, 
ascribed  in  sanguine  moments  to  the  strain  of  the  Darley 
Arabian,  and  as  gentle  as  she  was  spirited,  was  the  girl's 
dearest  possession.  "I  begged  him  not  to  take  her!" 
she  repeated,  almost  in  tears.     "  I  knew  there  was  danger." 

"James  was  wrong  to  take  her  up  country,"  Uncle 
Ulick  said  sternly. 

"They  've  claimed  her!"  Flavia  wailed.  "I  know  they 
have!  And  I  shall  never  recover  her!  Oh,  I  'd  far  rather 
she  were  dead!" 

Uncle  Ulick  lifted  up  his  powerful  voice. 

"Where  's  the  mare?"  he  shouted. 

James  McMurrough  shrugged  his  shoulders;  a  moment 
later  the  riders  came  up  and  the  tale  was  told.  The  three 
young  men  had  halted  at  the  hedge  tavern  at  Brocktown, 
where  their  road  ran  out  of  the  road  to  Tralee.  There 
were  four  men  drinking  in  the  house,  who  seemed  to  take 
no  notice  of  them.     But  when  The  McMurrough  and  his 


"STOP   THIEF"  49 

companions  went  to  the  shed  beside  the  house  to  draw  out 
their  horses,  the  men  followed,  challenged  them  for 
Papists,  threw  down  five  pounds  in  gold,  and  seized  the 
mare.     The  four  were  armed,  and  resistance  was  useless. 

The  story  was  received  with  a  volley  of  oaths  and 
curses.  "But  by  the  Holy,"  Uncle  Ulick  flamed  up, 
"I  'd  have  hung  on  their  heels  and  raised  the  country!" 

"Ay,  ay!     The  thieves  of  the  world!" 

"They  took  the  big  road  by  Tralee,"  James  McMur- 
rough  explained  sulkily.     "What  was  the  use?" 

"Were  there  no  men  working  in  the  bogs?" 

"There  were  none  near  by,  to  be  sure,"  Morty  said. 
"  But  I  'd  a  notion  if  we  followed  them  we  might  light  on 
one  friend  or  another  —  't  was  in  Kerry,  after  all!" 

"'T  was  not  more  than  nine  miles  English  from  here!" 
Uncle  Ulick  cried. 

"That  was  just  what  I  thought,"  Morty  continued  with 

some  hesitation.     "Just  that,  but "     And  his  eye 

transferred  the  burden  to  The  McMurrough. 

James  answered  with  an  oath.  "A  nice  time  this  to 
be  bringing  the  soldiers  upon  us,"  he  cried,  "when, 
bedad,  if  the  time  ever  was,  we  want  no  trouble  with  the 
Englishry!  What 's  the  use  of  crying  over  spilled  milk? 
I  '11  give  you  another  mare." 

"But  it  '11  not  be  Giralda!"  Flavia  wailed. 

"Sure  it 's  the  black  shame,  it  is!"  Uncle  Ulick  cried, 
his  face  dark.  "It's  enough  to  raise  the  country:  Ay, 
I  say  it,  though  you  're  listening,  Asgill.  It 's  more  than 
blood  can  stand!" 


50  THEWILDGEESE 

"No  one  is  more  sorry  than  myself,"  Asgill  replied,  with 
a  look  of  concern.  "I  don't  make  the  laws,  or  they  'd 
be  other  than  they  are!" 

"True  for  you,"  Uncle  Ulick  answered.  "I  'm  allow- 
ing that.  And  it  is  true,  too,  that  to  make  a  stir  too  early 
would  ruin  all.  I  'm  afraid  you  must  be  making  the  best 
of  it,  Flawy!  I  'd  go  after  them  myself,  but  the  time  's 
not  convenient,  as  you  know,  and  by  this  they  're  in  Tralee, 
bad  cess  to  it,  where  there  's  naught  to  be  done.  They  '11 
be  for  selling  her  to  one  of  the  garrison  officers,  I  'm 
thinking;  or  they  '11  take  her  farther  up  country,  maybe 
to  Dublin." 

Flavia's  last  hopes  died  with  this  verdict.  She  could  not 
control  her  tears,  and  she  turned  and  went  away  in  grief 
to  the  house. 

Meantime  the  hangers-on  and  the  beggars  pressed  upon 
the  gentry,  anxious  to  hear.  The  McMurrough,  not  sorry 
to  find  some  one  on  whom  to  vent  his  temper,  turned  upon 
them  and  drove  them  away  with  blows  of  his  whip.  The 
movement  brought  him  face  to  face  with  Captain  Augus- 
tin.  The  fiery  little  Frenchman  disdained  to  give  way, 
in  a  trice  angry  words  passed,  and  —  partly  out  of  mischief, 
for  the  moment  was  certainly  not  propitious  —  Asgill 
repeated  the  proposal  which  Colonel  John  had  just  made. 
The  Colonel  thus  challenged  stood  forward. 

"It's  a  fair  compromise,"  he  argued.  "And  if 
Captain  Augustin  is  prepared  to  pay  twenty  per 
cent. " 

"He'll  not  have  his  cargo,  nor  yet  a  cask!"    The 


"STOP    THIEF"  51 

McMurroiigh  replied  with  a  curt,  angry  laugh.  "Loss 
and  enough  we  've  had  to-day." 

"But " 

"  Get  me  back  the  mare,"  the  young  man  cried,  cutting 
the  Colonel  short  with  savage  ridicule.  "That's  all  I 
have  to  say." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  Colonel  John  replied  quietly,  "that 

those  who  lose  should  find.      Still "  checking  the 

young  man's  anger  by  the  very  calmness  of  his  tone,  "for 
Captain  Augustin's  sake,  who  can  ill  bear  the  loss,  and 
for  your  sister's  sake,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do." 

The  McMurrough  stared.    "You  ?"  he  cried.    " You ?" 

"Yes,  I." 

"Heaven  help  us!"  the  young  man  laughed  aloud  in 
his  scorn. 

But  Colonel  John  seemed  no  way  moved. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "Only  let  us  understand  one 
another"  —  with  a  look  at  Uncle  Ulick  which  made  him 
party  to  the  bargain.  "If  I  return  to-morrow  evening 
or  on  the  following  day  —  or  week  —  with  your  sister's 
mare " 

"Mounseer  shall  have  his  stuff  again  to  the  last  penny- 
worth," young  McMurrough  returned  with  an  ironical 
laugh,  "and  without  payment  at  all!  Or  stay!  Perhaps 
you  '11  ouy  the  mare?" 

"No,  I  shall  not  buy  her,"  Colonel  John  answered, 
"except  at  the  price  the  man  gave  you." 

"Then  you  '11  not  get  her.  That 's  certain!  But  it 's 
your  concern." 


52  THE    WILD    GEESE 

The  Colonel  nodded,  and,  turning  on  his  heels,  went 
away  toward  the  house,  calling  William  Bale  to  him  as  he 
passed. 

The  McMurrough  looked  at  the  Frenchman.  He  had 
a  taste  for  tormenting  some  one.  "Well,  monsieur," 
he  jeered,  "how  do  you  like  your  bargain  ?" 

"I  do  not  understand,"  the  Frenchman  answered. 
"  But  he  is  a  man  of  his  word,  ma  foi!    And  they  are  not 
—  of  the  common." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  MESS-ROOM  AT  TRALEE 

EARLY  in  the  saddle,  Colonel  Sullivan  rode  east- 
ward under  Slieve  Mish,  with  the  sun  rising  above 
the  lower  spurs  of  the  mountain,  and  the  lark 
saluting  the  new-born  radiance  with  a  song  attuned  to  the 
freshness   of   the    morning. 

Bale  rode  behind  him,  taciturn,  comparing  the  folds  of 
his  native  Suffolk  hills  with  these  greener  vales.  They 
reached  the  hedge  tavern,  where  the  mare  had  been  seized, 
and  they  stayed  to  bait  their  horses,  but  got  no  news. 
About  eight  they  rode  on;  and  five  long  Irish  miles  nearer 
Tralee,  they  viewed  from  the  crest  of  a  hill  a  piece  of  road 
stretched  ribbon-like  before  them,  and  on  it  a  man  walking 
from  them  at  a  great  pace.  He  had  for  companion  a  boy, 
who  trotted  beside  him. 

Neither  man  nor  boy  looked  back,  and  it  did  not  seem 

to  be  from  fear  of  the  two  riders  that  they  moved  so  quickly. 

The  man  wore  a  loose  drugget  coat  and  an  old  jockey-cap, 

and  walked  with  a  stout  six-foot  staff.     Thus  armed  he 

should  have  stood  in  small  fear  of  robbers.     Yet  when 

Colonel  John's  horse,  the  tread  of  its  hoofs  deadened  by 

the  sod  road,  showed  its  head  at  his  shoulder,  he  turned  a 

face  of  more  vivid  alarm  than  seemed  necessary.     And  he 

crossed  himself. 

53 


54  THE    WILD    GEESE 

Colonel  John  touched  his  hat.  "  I  give  you  good  morn- 
ing, good  man,"  he  said. 

The  walker  raised  his  hand  to  his  cap  as  if  to  return  the 
salute,  but  lowered  it  without  doing  so.  He  muttered 
something. 

"You  will  be  in  haste?"  Colonel  John  continued.  He 
saw  that  the  sweat  stood  in  beads  on  the  man's  brow,  and 
the  lad's  face  was  tear-stained. 

"  I  've  far  to  go,"  the  man  muttered.  He  spoke  with  a 
slight  foreign  accent,  but  in  the  west  of  Ireland  this  was 
common.     "The  top  of  the  morning  to  you." 

Plainly  he  wished  the  two  riders  to  pass  on,  but  he  did 
not  slacken  his  speed  for  a  moment.  So  for  a  space  they 
went  abreast,  the  man,  with  every  twenty  paces,  glancing 
up  suspiciously.  And  now  and  again,  the  boy,  as  he  ran 
or  walked,  vented  a  sob. 

The  Colonel  looked  about  him.  The  solitude  of  the 
valley  was  unbroken.  No  cabin  smoked,  no  man  worked 
within  sight,  so  that  the  haste  of  these  two,  their  sweating 
faces,  their  straining  steps,  seemed  portentous,  "Shall 
I  take  up  the  lad  ? "  Colonel  John  asked. 

Plainly  the  man  hesitated.  Then,  "  You  will  be  doing 
a  kindness,"  he  panted.  And,  seizing  the  lad  in  two 
powerful  arms,  he  swung  him  to  the  Colonel's  stirrup,  who, 
in  taking  him,  knocked  off  the  other's  jockey-cap. 

The  man  snatched  it  up  and  put  it  on  with  a  single 
movement.  But  Colonel  John  had  seen  what  he 
expected. 

"  You  walk  on  a  matter  of  life  and  death  ?  "  he  said. 


MESS-ROOM    AT    TRALEE  55 

"It  is  all  that,"  the  man  answered;  and  this  time  his 
look  was  defiant. 

"You  are  taking  the  offices,  father?" 

The  man  did  not  reply. 

"  To  one  who  is  near  his  end,  I  suspect  ?" 

The  priest  —  for  such  he  was  —  glanced  at  the  weapon 
Colonel  John  wore.  "You  can  do  what  you  will,"  he  said 
sullenly.     "I  am  on  my  duty." 

"And  a  fine  thing,  that!"  Colonel  John  answered 
heartily.  He  drew  rein,  and,  before  the  other  knew  what 
he  would  be  at,  he  was  off  his  horse.  "Mount,  father," 
he  said,  "and  ride,  and  God  be  with  you!" 

For  a  moment  the  priest  stared  dumfounded. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "you  wear  a  sword!  And  no  son  of  the 
Church  goes  armed  in  these  parts." 

"If  I  am  not  one  of  your  Church  I  am  a  Christian," 
Colonel  John  answered.  "Mount,  father,  and  ride  in 
God's  name,  and  when  you  are  there  send  the  lad  back 
with  the  beast." 

"The  Mother  of  God  reward  you!"  the  priest  cried 
fervently,  "and  turn  your  heart  in  the  right  way!"  He 
scrambled  to  the  saddle.     "The  blessing  of  all " 

The  rest  was  lost  in  the  thud  of  hoofs  as  the  horse 
started  briskly,  leaving  Colonel  John  standing  alone  upon 
the  road  beside  Bale's  stirrup. 

"It's  something  if  a  man  serves  where  he's  listed," 
Colonel  John  remarked. 

Bale  smiled.  "  And  don't  betray  his  own  side,"  he  said. 
He  slipped  from  his  saddle. 


56  THEWILDGEESE 

"  You  think  it 's  the  devil's  work  we  've  done  ?"  Colonel 
John  asked. 

But  Bale  declined  to  say  more,  and  the  two  walked  on, 
one  on  either  side  of  the  horse. 

They  had  trudged  the  better  part  of  two  miles  when  they 
came  upon  the  horse  tethered  by  the  reins  to  one  of  two 
gate-pillars.  Colonel  John  got  to  his  saddle,  and  they 
trotted  on.  Notwithstanding,  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
when  they  approached  the  town  of  Tralee. 

As  the  Colonel  eyed  the  mean  houses  which  flanked  the 
entrance  to  the  town,  he  recognized  that  if  all  the  saints 
had  not  vouchsafed  their  company,  the  delay  caused  by 
the  meeting  with  the  priest  had  done  somewhat.  For  at 
that  precise  moment  a  man  was  riding  into  the  town  before 
them,  and  the  horse  under  the  man  was  Flavia  McMur- 
rough's  lost  mare. 

Colonel  John's  eye  lightened  as  he  recognized  its  points. 
With  a  sign  to  Bale  he  fell  in  behind  the  man  and  followed 
him  through  two  or  three  ill-paved  and  squalid  streets. 
Presently  the  rider  passed  through  a  loop-holed  gateway, 
crossed  an  open  space  surrounded  by  dreary  buildings 
which  no  military  eye  could  take  for  aught  but  a 
barrack  yard.  The  two  still  followed  —  the  sentry 
staring  after  them.  On  the  far  side  of  the  yard  the 
mare  and  its  rider  vanished  through  a  second  arch- 
way, which  appeared  to  lead  to  an  inner  court.  The 
Colonel  went  after  them.  Fortune,  he  thought,  had 
favoured  him. 

But  as  he  emerged  from  the  tunnel-like  passage  he  raised 


MESS-ROOM  AT  TRALEE  57 

his  head  in  astonishment.  A  din  of  voices,  an  outbreak 
of  laughter  and  revelry,  burst  in  a  flood  of  sound  upon  his 
ears.  He  turned  his  face  in  the  direction  whence  the 
sounds  came,  and  saw  three  open  windows,  and  at  each 
window  three  or  four  flushed  countenances.  His  sudden 
emergence  from  the  tunnel,  perhaps  his  look  of  surprise, 
wrought  an  instant's  silence,  which  was  followed  by  a 
ruder  outburst. 

"Cock!  cock!  cock!"  shrieked  a  tipsy  voice,  and  an 
orange,  hurled  at  random,  missed  the  Colonel's  astonished 
face  by  a  yard.  The  mare  which  had  led  him  so  far  had 
disappeared,  and  instinctively  he  drew  bridle.  He  stared 
at  the  window! 

"Mark  one!"  cried  a  second  roisterer,  and  a  cork, 
better  aimed  than  the  orange,  struck  the  Colonel  sharply 
on  the  chin.     A  shout  of  laughter  greeted  the  hit. 

He  raised  his  hat.  "Gentlemen,"  he  remonstrated, 
"gentlemen " 

He  could  proceed  no  further.  A  flight  of  corks,  a 
renewed  cry  of  "Cock!  cock!  cock!"  a  chorus  of  "Fetch 
him,  Ponto!  Dead,  good  dog!"  drowned  his  remon- 
strances. Perhaps  in  the  scowling  face  at  his  elbow  the 
wits  of  the  — th  found  more  amusement  than  in  the  master's 
mild  astonishment. 

"Who  the  deuce  is  he  ?"  cried  one  of  the  seniors,  raising 
his  voice  above  the  uproar.     "English  or  Irish?" 

"Irish  for  a  dozen! "  a  voice  answered.  " Here,  Paddy, 
where  's  your  papers?" 

"Ay,  be  jabers!"  in  an  exaggerated  brogue;   "it's  the 


58  THEWILDGEESE 

broth  of  a  boy  he  is,  and  never  a  face  as  long  as  his  in  ould 
Ireland!" 

"Gentlemen,"  the  Colonel  said,  getting  in  a  word  at 
last.  "Gentlemen,  I  have  been  in  many  companies 
before  this,  and " 

"You  shall  be  in  ours!"  one  of  the  revellers  retorted. 
And  "Have  him  in!  Fetch  him  in!"  roared  a  dozen 
voices,  amid  much  laughter.  Half  as  many  young  fellows 
leaped  from  the  windows,  and  surrounded  him. 
"Who-whoop!"  cried  one,  "  Who- whoop ! " 

"Steady,  gentlemen,  steady!"  the  Colonel  said,  a  note 
of  sternness  in  his  voice.  "I  've  no  objection  to  joining 
you,  or  to  a  little  timely  frolic,  but " 

"Join  us  you  will,  whether  or  no!"  replied  one  more 
turbulent  than  the  rest.  He  made  as  if  he  would  lay  hands 
on  the  Colonel,  and,  to  avoid  violence,  the  latter  suffered 
himself  to  be  helped  from  his  saddle.  In  a  twinkling  he 
was  through  the  doorway,  leaving  his  reins  in  Bale's 
hand. 

Boisterous  cries  of  "Hallo,  sobersides!"  and  "Cock, 
cock,  cock!"  greeted  the  Colonel,  as,  partly  of  his  own 
accord  and  partly  urged  by  unceremonious  hands,  he 
crossed  the  threshold. 

The  scene  presented  by  the  apartment  matched  the 
flushed  faces  which  the  windows  had  framed.  A  corner  of 
the  table  had  been  cleared  for  a  main  at  hazard;  but  to 
make  up  for  this  the  sideboard  was  a  wilderness  of  broken 
meats  and  piled-up  dishes,  and  an  overturned  card-table 
beside  one  of  the  windows  had  strewn  the  floor  with  cards. 


MESS-ROOM    AT    TRALEE  59 

Here,  there,  everywhere  on  chairs,  on  hooks,  were  cast 
sword-belts,  neckcloths,  neglected  wigs. 

A  peaceful  citizen  of  that  day  had  as  soon  found  himself 
in  a  bear-pit;  and  even  the  Colonel's  face  grew  a  trifle 
longer  as  hands,  not  too  gentle,  conducted  him  toward  the 
end  of  the  table.  "  Gentlemen,  gentlemen,"  he  began, 
"I  have  been  in  many  companies,  as  I  said  before, 
and " 

"A  speech!  Old  Gravity's  speech!"  roared  a  middle- 
aged,  bold-eyed  man,  who  had  suggested  the  sally  from 
the  windows,  and  from  the  first  had  set  the  younger  spirits 
an  example  of  recklessness.  "Hear  to  him!"  He  filled 
a  glass  of  wine  and  waved  it  perilously  near  the  Colonel's 
nose.  "  Old  Gravity's  speech !  Give  it  tongue ! "  he  cried. 
"The  flure's  your  own,  and  we  're  listening." 

Colonel  John  eyed  him  with  a  slight  contraction  of  the 
features.  But  the  announcement,  if  ill-meant,  availed 
to  procure  silence.  The  more  sober  had  resumed  their 
seats.     He  raised  his  head  and  spoke. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  —  and  it  was  strange  to  note 
the  effect  of  his  look  as  his  eyes  fell  first  on  one  and  then  on 
another,  fraught  with  a  dignity  which  insensibly  wrought 
on  them.  "Gentlemen,  I  have  been  in  many  companies, 
and  I  have  found  it  true,  all  the  world  over,  that  what  a 
man  brings  he  finds.  I  have  the  honour  to  speak  to  you 
as  a  soldier  to  soldiers " 

"  English  or  Irish  ?"  asked  a  tall  sallow  man  —  sharply, 
but  in  a  new  tone. 

"Irish!" 


60  THE    WILD     GEESE 

"Oh,  be  jabers!"  from  the  man  with  the  wineglass. 

But  the  Colonel's  eye  and  manner  had  had  their  effect, 
and  "Let  him  speak!"  the  sallow  man  said.  "And  you, 
Payton,  have  done  with  your  fooling,  will  you?" 

"Well,  hear  to  him!" 

"I  have  been  in  many  camps  and  many  companies, 
gentlemen,"  the  Colonel  resumed,  "and  those  of  many 
nations.  But  wherever  I  have  been  I  have  found  that  if 
a  man  brought  no  offence,  he  received  none.  I  am  a 
stranger  here,  for  I  have  been  out  of  my  own  country  for 
a  score  of  years.  On  my  return  you  welcome  me,"  he 
smiled,  "a  little  boisterously  perhaps,  but  I  am  sure, 
gentlemen,  with  a  good  intent.  And  as  I  have  fared  else- 
where I  am  sure  I  shall  fare  at  your  hands." 

"Well,  sure,"  from  the  background,  "and  have  n't  we 
made   you   welcome  ? " 

"Almost  too  freely,"  the  Colonel  replied,  smiling  good- 
humouredly.  "A  peaceable  man  who  had  not  lived  as 
long  as  I  have  might  have  found  himself  at  a  loss  in  face  of 
so  strenuous  a  welcome.  Corks,  perhaps,  are  more  in 
place  in  bottles " 

"And  a  dale  more  in  place  out  of  them!"  from  the 
background. 

"But  if  you  will  permit  me  to  explain  my  errand,  I  will 
say  no  more  of  that.  My  name,  gentlemen,  is  Sullivan, 
Colonel  John  Sullivan  of  Skull,  formerly  of  the  Swedish 
service,  and  much  at  your  service.  I  shall  be  still  more 
obliged  if  any  of  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  inform  me  who 
is  the  purchaser " 


MESS-ROOM    AT    TRALEE  Gl 

Payton  interrupted  him  rudely.  "  We  have  had  enough 
of  this!"  he  cried.  "Sink  all  purchasers,  I  say!"  And 
with  a  drunken  crow  he  thrust  his  neighbour  against  the 
speaker,  causing  both  to  reel.  How  it  happened  no  one 
saw  —  whether  Payton  himself  staggered  in  the  act,  or 
flung  the  wine  wantonly;  but  somehow  the  contents  of  his 
glass  flew  over  the  Colonel's  face  and  neckcloth. 

Half  a  dozen  men  rose  from  their  seats.  "Shame!" 
an  indignant  voice  cried. 

Among  those  who  had  risen  was  the  sallow  man. 
"Payton,"  he  said  sharply,  "what  did  you  do  that 
for?" 

"  Because  I  choose,  if  you  like ! "  the  stout  man  answered. 
"  What  is  it  to  you  ?  I  am  ready  to  give  him  satisfaction 
when  he  likes,  and  where  he  likes,  and  no  heel-taps!  And 
what  more  can  he  want  ?  Do  you  hear,  sir  ?  "  he  continued 
in  a  bullying  tone.  "Sword  or  pistols,  before  breakfast 
or  after  dinner,  drunk  or  sober,  Jack  Payton  's  your  man. 
It  shall  never  be  said  in  my  time  that  the  — th  suffered  a 
crop-eared  Irishman  to  preach  to  them  in  their  own  mess- 
room!  You  can  send  your  friend  to  me  when  you  please. 
He '11  find  me!" 

The  Colonel  was  wiping  the  wine  from  his  chin  and 
neckcloth.  He  had  turned  strangely  pale  at  the  moment 
of  the  insult.  More  than  one  of  those  who  watched  him 
curiously,  noting  the  slow  preciseness  of  his  movements, 
expected  some  extraordinary  action. 

But  no  one  looked  for  anything  so  abnormal  as  the 
course  he  took  when  he  spoke.     Nothing  in  his  bearing 


62  THEWILDGEESE 

had  prepared  them  for  it;  nor  anything  in  his  conduct 
which,  so  far,  had  been  that  of  a  man  of  the  world  not  too 
much  at  a  loss  even  in  the  unfavourable  circumstances  in 
which  he  was  placed. 

''I  do  not  fight,"  he  said.  "Your  challenge  is  cheap, 
sir,  as  your  insult." 

Pay  ton  stared.  He  had  never  been  more  astonished  in 
his  life.  "You  do  not  fight?  Heaven  and  earth!  and 
you  a  soldier!" 

"I  do  not  fight." 

"After  that,  man!     Not  —  after " 

"No,"  Colonel  John  said  between  his  teeth. 

And  then  no  one  spoke.  A  something  in  Colonel  John's 
tone  sobered  the  spectators,  and  turned  that  which  might 
have  seemed  an  ignominy  into  a  tragedy  in  which  they  all 
had  their  share.  For  the  insult  had  been  so  wanton,  that 
there  was  not  one  of  the  witnesses  whose  sympathy  had 
not  been  with  the  victim. 

Payton  alone  was  moved  only  by  contempt. 

"Heavens,  man!"  he  cried,  finding  his  voice  again. 
"Are  you  a  Quaker?  If  so,  why  do  you  call  yourself  a 
soldier?" 

"I  am  no  Quaker,"  Colonel  John  answered,  "but  I  do 
not  fight  duels." 

"Why?" 

"If  I  killed  you,"  the  Colonel  replied,  eyeing  him 
steadily,  "  would  it  dry  my  neckcloth  or  clean  my  face  ?  " 

" No! "  Payton  retorted  with  a  sneer,  "  but  it  would  clean 
your  honour!     It  would  prove,    man,    that,    unlike  the 


MESS-ROOM    AT    TRALEE  63 

beasts    that   perish,  you    vakied    something    more    than 
your  Ufe!" 

"I  do." 

"What?"  Payton  asked  with  careless  disdain. 

"Among  other  things,  my  duty." 

Payton  laughed  brutally.  "Why,  by  the  powers,  you 
are  a  preacher!"  he  retorted  "Hang  your  duty,  sir,  and 
you  for  a  craven !  Give  me  acts,  not  words !  It 's  a  man's 
duty  to  defend  his  honour,  and  you  talk  of  your  neck- 
cloth! There  's  for  a  new  neckcloth!"  He  pulled  out  a 
half-crown  and  flung  it,  with  an  insulting  gesture,  upon  the 
table.  "  Show  us  your  back,  and  for  the  future  give  gentle- 
men of  honour  a  wide  berth!  You  are  no  mate  for 
them!" 

The  act  and  the  words  were  too  strong.  A  murmur 
rose  —  for  if  Payton  was  feared  he  was  not  loved ;  and  the 
sallow-faced  man,  whose  name  was  Marsh,  spoke  out. 
"Easy,  Payton,"  he  said.     "The  gentleman " 

"The  gentleman,  eh?" 

"  Did  not  come  here  of  his  own  accord,  and  you  've  said 
enough,  and  done  enough!     For  my  part " 

"I  didn't  ask  for  your  interference!"  the  other  cried 
insolently. 

'Well,  anyway " 

'And  I  don't  want  it!  And  I  won't  have  it;  do  you 
hear.  Marsh?"  Payton  repeated  menacingly.  "You 
know  me,  and  I  know  you," 

"I  know  that  you  are  a  better  fencer  and  a  better  shot 
than  I  am,"  Marsh  replied,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "and 


<< 
(( 


64  THE    WILD     GEESE 

I  daresay  than  any  of  us.     We  are  apt  to  believe  it,  anyway. 
But " 

"I  would  advise  you  to  let  that  be  enough,"  Payton 
sneered. 

It  was  then  that  the  Colonel  spoke  —  and  in  a  tone  some- 
what altered.  "I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  he  said, 
addressing  the  sallow-faced  man.  "  I  crave  leave  to  say  one 
word  only,  which  may  come  home  to  some  among  you. 
We  are  all,  at  times,  at  the  mercy  of  mean  persons.  Yes, 
sir,  of  mean  persons,"  the  Colonel  repeated,  in  a  tone  so 
determined  that  Payton,  in  the  act  of  seizing  a  decanter  to 
hurl  at  him,  hesitated.  "For  any  but  a  mean  person," 
Colonel  John  continued,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  "finding  that  he  had  insulted  one  who  could  not 
meet  him  on  even  terms,  would  have  deemed  it  the  same 
as  if  he  had  insulted  a  one-armed  man,  or  a  blind  man, 
and  would  have  set  himself  right  by  an  apology." 

At  that  word  Payton  found  his  voice.  "Hang  your 
apology!"  he  cried  furiously. 

"  By  an  apology,"  the  Colonel  repeated,  fixing  him  with 
eyes  of  unmeasured  contempt,  "which  would  have  lowered 
him  no  more  than  an  apology  to  a  woman  or  a  child.  Not 
doing  so,  his  act  dishonours  himself  only,  and  those  who 
sit  with  him.  And  one  day,  unless  I  mistake  not,  his  own 
blood,  and  the  blood  of  others,  will  rest  upon  his  head." 

With  that  word  the  speaker  turned  slowly,  walked  with 
an  even  pace  to  the  door,  and  opened  it,  none  gainsaying 
him.  On  the  threshold  he  paused  and  looked  back. 
Something,  possibly  some   chord  of  superstition   in  his 


MESS-ROOM     AT    TRALEE  65 

breast  which  his  adversary's  last  words  had  touched, 
held  Pay  ton  silent:  and  silent  the  Colonel's  raised  finger 
found  him. 

"  I  believe,"  Colonel  John  said,  gazing  solemnly  at  him, 
"that  we  shall  meet  again."     And  he  went  out. 

Payton  turned  to  the  table,  and  with  an  unsteady  hand 
filled  a  glass.  "Sink  the  old  Square-Toes!"  he  cried. 
"He  got  what  he  deserved!  Who  '11  throw  a  main  with 
me?" 

"Thirty  guineas  against  your  new  mare,  if  you  like  ?" 

"  No,  confound  you,"  Payton  retorted  angrily.  "  Did  n't 
I  say  she  was  n't  for  sale?" 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  MaTtRE  d'aRMES 


BEYOND  doubt  Colonel  John  was,  as  he  retired, 
as  unhappy  as  a  more  ordinary  man  might  have 
been  in  the  same  case.  He  knew  that  he  was  no 
craven,  that  he  had  given  his  proofs  a  score  of  times.  But 
old  deeds  and  a  foreign  reputation  availed  nothing  here, 
and  it  was  with  a  deep  sense  of  vexation  and  shame  that  he 
rode  out  of  the  barrack-yard.  Nor  were  his  spirits  low 
on  this  account  only. 

He  knew  that  he  could  only  get  the  mare  from  those  who 
held  her  by  imposing  himself  upon  them;  and  to  do  this 
after  what  had  happened  seemed  impossible.  If  he  was 
anxious  to  recover  the  mare,  his  anxiety  did  not  rest  there. 
Her  recovery  was  but  a  step  to  that  influence  at  Morris- 
town  which  would  make  him  potent  for  good;  to  that 
consideration  which  would  enable  him  to  expel  foolish 
counsels,  and  silence  that  simmering  talk  of  treason  which 
might  at  any  moment  boil  up  into  action  and  ruin  a 
countryside. 

The  story  would  be  told,  must  be  told:  it  would  be 
carried  far  and  wide;  and  he  had  come  off  so  ill, 
had  cut  so  poor  a  figure,  that  after  this  he  could 
hope  for  nothing  from  his   personal   influence   here  or 

66 


THE  MAITRE   D'ARMES  67 

at  Morristown.  Nothing,  unless  he  could  set  himself 
right  at  Tralee. 

He  brooded  long  over  the  matter  and  at  length  hit  on  a 
plan,  promising,  though  distasteful.  He  called  Bale,  and 
made  inquiries  through  that  taciturn  man.  Next  morning 
he  sat  late  at  his  breakfast.  He  had  learned  that  the 
garrison  used  the  inn  much,  many  of  the  officers  calling 
there  for  their  "morning";  and  the  information  proved 
correct.  About  ten  he  heard  heavy  steps  in  the  stone- 
paved  passage,  spurs  rang  out  an  arrogant  challenge, 
and  voices  called  for  Patsy  and  Molly.  By  and  by  two 
officers,  almost  lads,  sauntered  into  the  room  and,  finding 
him  there,  moved  with  a  wink  and  a  grin  to  the  window. 
They  leaned  out,  and  he  heard  them  laugh;  he  knew 
that  they  were  discussing  him  before  they  turned  to  the 
daily  fare  —  the  neat  ankles  of  a  passing  colleen,  the 
glancing  eyes  of  the  French  milliner  over  the  way,  or  the 
dog-fight  at  the  corner.  The  two  remained  thus  until 
presently  the  sallow-faced  man  sauntered  idly  into  the 
room. 

He  did  not  see  the  Colonel  at  once,  but  the  latter  rose 
and  bowed.  Marsh,  a  little  added  colour  in  his  face, 
returned  the  salute  —  with  an  indifferent  grace.  It  was 
clear  that,  though  he  had  behaved  better  than  his  fellows 
on  the  previous  day,  he  had  no  desire  to  push  the  acquaint- 
ance farther. 

Colonel  John,  however,  gave  him  no  chance.  Still 
standing,  and  with  a  grave,  courteous  face,  "May  I,  as  a 
stranger,"  he  said,  "trouble  you  with  a  question,  sir?" 


68  THEWILDGEESE 

The  two  lady-killers  at  the  window  heard  the  words  and 
nudged  one  another,  with  a  stifled  chuckle  at  their  com- 
rade's predicament.  Captain  Marsh,  with  one  eye  on 
them,  assented  stiffly. 

"Is  there  any  one,"  the  Colonel  asked,  ''in  Tralee  —  I 
fear  the  chance  is  small  —  who  gives  fencing  lessons  ?" 

The  Captain's  look  of  surprise  yielded  to  one  of 
pitying  comprehension.  He  smiled  —  he  could  not  help 
it;  while  the  young  men  drew  in  their  heads  to  hear 
the  better. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "there  is." 

"In  the  regiment,  I  presume?" 

"He  is  attached  to  it  temporarily.  If  you  will  inquire 
at  the  Armoury  for  Lemoine,  the  maitre  d'armes,  he  will 
oblige  you,  I  have  no  doubt.     But " 

"If  you  please?"  the  Colonel  said  politely,  seeing  that 
Marsh  hesitated. 

"  If  you  are  not  a  skilled  swordsman,  I  fear  that  it  is  not 
one  lesson,  or  two,  or  a  dozen,  will  enable  you  to  meet 
Captain  Payton,  if  you  have  such  a  thing  in  your  mind,  sir. 
He  is  but  little  weaker  than  Lemoine,  and  Lemoine  is  a 
fair  match  with  a  small-sword  for  any  man  out  of  Lfjndon. 

Brady  in  Dublin,  possibly,  but "  he  stopped  abrujjtly, 

his  ear  catching  a  snigger  at  the  window. 

"Still,"  the  Colonel  answered  simply,  "a  long  reach  goes 
for  much,  I  have  heard,  and  I  am  tall." 

Captain  Marsh  looked  at  him  in  pity,  and  he  might  have 
put  his  compassion  into  words,  but  for  the  young  bloods 
at  the  window,  who,  he  knew,  would  repeat  the  conversa- 


THE   MAITRE   D'ARMES  69 

tion.  He  contented  himself,  therefore,  with  saying  rather 
curtlv,  "I  be  here  it  goes  some  wav."  And  he  turned  stiffly 
to  go  out. 

But  the  Colonel  had  a  last  question  to  put  to  him.  "At 
what  hour,"  he  asked,  "should  I  be  most  likely  to  find 
this  —  Lemoine  at  leisure?" 

"Lemoine?" 

"If  you  please." 

INIarsh  opened  his  mouth  to  answer,  but  found  himself 
anticipated  by  one  of  the  youngsters.  "Three  in  the 
afternoon  is  the  best  time,"  tne  lad  said  bluntly,  speaking 
over  his  shoulder.  He  popped  out  his  head  again,  that  his 
face,  swollen  by  his  perception  of  the  jest,  might  not 
betray  it. 

But  the  Colonel  seemed  to  see  nothing.  "  I  thank  you," 
he  said,  bowing  courteously. 

And  reseatinii  himself,  as  Marsh  went  out,  he  finisned 
his  breakfast.  The  two  at  the  window,  after  exploding 
once  or  twice  in  an  attempt  to  stifle  their  laughter,  drew  in 
their  heads,  and,  still  red  in  the  face,  marched  solemnly 
past  the  Colonel,  and  out  of  the  room.  His  seat,  now  the 
window  was  clear,  commanded  a  view  of  the  street,  and 
presently  he  saw  the  two  young  bloods  go  by  in  the  com- 
pany of  four  or  five  of  their  like.  They  were  gesticulating, 
nor  was  there  much  doubt,  from  the  laughter  with  which 
their  tale  was  received,  that  they  were  retailmg  a  joke  of 
signal  humour. 

That  did  not  surprise  the  Colonel.  But  when  the  door 
opened  a  moment  later,  and  Marsh  came  hastily  into  the 


70  THEWILDGEESE 

room,  and  with  averted  face  began  to  peer  about  for  some- 
thing, he  was  surprised. 

"Where's  that  snuff-box!"  the  sallow-faced  man 
exclaimed.  Then,  looking  about  him  to  make  sure  that 
the  door  was  closed.  "See  here,  sir,"  he  said  awkwardly, 
"it 's  no  business  of  mine,  but  for  a  man  who  has  served 
as  you  say  you  have,  you  're  a  very  simple  fellow.  Take 
my  advice  and  don't  go  to  Lemoine's  at  three,  if  you  go  at 
all." 

"No?"  the  Colonel  echoed. 

"  Can't  you  see  they  '11  all  be  there  to  guy  you  ?"  Marsh 
retorted  impatiently.  The  next  moment,  with  a  hasty 
nod,  he  was  gone,     He  had  found  the  box  in  his  pocket. 

Colonel  Sullivan  smiled,  and  rose  from  the  table.  "A 
good  man,"  he  muttered.  "  Pity  he  has  not  more  courage." 
The  next  moment  he  came  to  attention,  for  slowly  past  the 
window  moved  Captain  Payton  himself,  riding  Flavia's 
mare,  and  talking  with  one  of  the  young  bloods  who  walked 
at  his  stirrup. 

The  man  and  the  horse!  The  Colonel  began  to  under- 
stand that  something  more  than  wantonness  had  inspired 
Payton's  conduct  the  previous  night.  He  had  had  an 
interest  in  nipping  inquiry  in  the  bud;  and,  learning  who 
the  Colonel  was,  had  acted  on  the  instant,  and  with  con- 
siderable presence  of  mind. 

The  Colonel  remained  within  doors  until  five  minutes 
before  three  o'clock.  Then,  attending  to  the  directions 
he  had  received,  he  made  his  way  to  a  particular  door  a 
little  within  the  barrack  gate. 


THE    MAITRE   D'ARMES  71 

Had  he  glanced  up  at  the  windows  he  would  have  seen 
faces  at  them;  moreover,  a  suspicious  ear  might  have 
caught  a  scurrying  of  feet,  mingled  with  stifled  laughter. 
But  he  did  not  look  up.  He  did  not  seem  to  expect  to 
see  more  than  he  found,  when  he  entered  —  a  great  bare 
room  with  its  floor  strewn  with  sawdust  and  its  walls 
adorned  here  and  there  by  a  gaunt  trophy  of  arms.  In 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  engaged  apparently  in  weighing  one 
foil  against  another,  was  a  stout,  dark  man,  whose  light 
and  nimble  step  gave  the  lie  to  his  weight. 

Certainly  there  came  from  a  half-opened  door  at  the  end 
of  the  room  a  stealthy  sound  as  of  rats  taking  cover.  But 
Colonel  John  did  not  look  that  way.  His  whole  attention 
was  bent  upon  the  maitre  d'armes,  who  bowed  low  to  him. 
Clicking  his  heels  together,  and  extending  his  palms  in  the 
French  fashion.  "  Good  morning,  sare,"  he  said,  his 
southern  accent  unmistakable.     "I  make  you  welcome." 

The  Colonel  returned  his  salute  less  elaborately 

"The  maitre  d'armes,  Lemoine?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sare,  that  is  me.     At  your  service!" 

"  I  am  a  stranger  in  Tralee,  and  I  have  been  recom- 
mended to  apply  to  you.  You  are,  I  am  told,  accustomed 
to  give  lessons." 

"With  the  small-sword?"  the  Frenchman  answered, 
with  the  same  gesture  of  the  open  hands.  "It  is  my 
profession." 

"  I  am  desirous  of  brushing  up  my  knowledge  —  such 
as  it  IS. 

"A  vare  good  notion,"  the  fencing-master  replied,  his 


72  THEWILDGEESE 

black,  beady  eyes  twinkling.  "  Vare  good  for  me.  Vara 
good  also  for  you.  Always  ready,  is  the  gentleman's 
motto;  and  to  make  himself  ready,  his  high  recreation. 
But,  doubtless,  sare,"  with  a  faint  smile,  "you  are  pro- 
ficient, and  I  teach  you  nothing.  You  come  but  to  sweat 
a  little." 

"At  one  time,"  Colonel  John  replied  with  simplicity, 
"I  was  fairly  proficient.  Then  —  this  happened!"  He 
held  out  his  right  hand.     "You  see?" 

"Ah!"  the  Frenchman  said  in  a  low  tone,  and  he  raised 
his  hands.  "That  is  ogly!  That  is  vare  ogly!  Can 
you  hold  with  that?"  he  added,  inspecting  the  hand  with 
interest.     He  was  a  different  man. 

"So,  so,"  the  Colonel  answered  cheerfully. 

"  Not  strongly,  eh  ?     It  is  not  possible." 

"Not  very  strongly,"  the  Colonel  assented.  His  hand, 
Hke  Bale's,  lacked  two  fingers. 

Lemoine  muttered  something  under  his  breath,  and 
looked  at  the  Colonel  with  a  wrinkled  brow.  "Tut  — 
tut!"  he  said,  "and  how  long  are  you  like  that,  sare?" 

"Seven  years." 

"Pity!  pity!"  Lemoine  exclaimed.  Again  he  looked  at 
his  visitor  with  perplexed  eyes.  After  which,  "Peste!" 
he  said  suddenly. 

The  Colonel  stared. 

"It  is  not  right!"  the  Frenchman  continued,  frowning. 
"I  —  no!  Pardon  me,  sare,  I  do  not  fence  with  les 
estropies.  That  is  downright!  That  is  certain,  sare.  I 
do  not  do  it." 


THEMAITRED'ARMES  73 

If  the  Colonel  had  been  listening  he  might  have  caught 
the  sound  of  a  warning  cough,  proceeding  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  inner  room;  but  he  had  his  back  to  the  half- 
opened  door.  "  But  if,"  he  objected,  "  I  am  willing  to  pay 
for  an  hour's  practice?" 

"Another  day,  sare.     Another  day,  if  you  will." 

"But  I  shall  not  be  here  another  day.  I  have  but 
to-day.  By  and  by,"  he  continued  with  a  smile  as  kindly 
as  it  was  humorous,  "  I  shall  begin  to  think  that  you  are 
afraid  to  pit  yourself  against  a  manchoi!" 

"Oh,  la!  la!" 

"Do  me  the  favour,  then,"  Colonel  John  retorted.  "If 
you  please?" 

Against  one  of  the  walls  were  three  chairs  arranged  in 
a  row.  Before  each  stood  a  boot-jack,  and  beside  it  a 
pair  of  boot-hooks;  over  it,  fixed  in  the  wall,  were  two  or 
three  pegs  for  the  occupant's  wig,  cravat,  and  cane.  The 
Colonel,  without  waiting  for  a  further  answer,  took  his 
seat  on  one  of  the  chairs,  removed  his  boots,  and  then 
his  coat,  vest,  and  wig,  which  he  hung  on  the  pegs 
above  him. 

"And  now,"  he  said  gaily,  as  he  stood  up,  "the  mask!" 

He  did  not  see  the  change,  but  as  he  rose,  the  door  of  the 
room  behind  him  became  fringed  with  grinning  faces. 
Pay  ton,  the  two  youths  who  had  leaned  from  the  window 
of  the  inn,  a  couple  of  older  officers,  half  a  dozen  subalterns, 
all  were  there.  The  more  grave  could  hardly  keep  the 
more  hilarious  in  order.  The  stranger  who  fought  no 
duels,  yet  thought  that  a  lesson  or  two  would  make  him  a 


74  THEWILDGEESE 

match  for  a  dead-hand  hke  Payton  —  was  ever  such    a 
promising  joke  conceived  ? 

The  Frenchman  made  no  further  demur.  He  took  his 
mask,  and  proffered  a  choice  of  foils  to  his  antagonist, 
whose  figure,  freed  from  the  heavy  coat  and  vest  of  the  day, 
seemed  more  supple  than  the  Frenchman  had  expected. 
"A  pity,  a  pity!"  the  latter  said  to  himself.  "To  have 
lost,  if  he  ever  was  professor,  the  joy  of  life!" 

"Are  you  ready?"  Colonel  John  asked. 

"At  your  service,  sare,"  the  maiire  d'armes  replied. 
The  two  advanced  each  a  foot,  they  touched  swords,  then 
saluted  with  that  graceful  and  courteous  engagement  which 
to  an  ignorant  observer  is  one  of  the  charms  of  the  foil. 
As  they  did  so,  and  steel  grated  on  steel,  the  eavesdroppers 
in  the  inner  room  ventured  softly  from  ambush  —  like  rats 
issuing  forth. 

They  were  on  the  broad  grin  when  they  came  out.  But 
it  took  them  less  than  a  minute  to  discover  that  the  enter- 
tainment was  not  likely  to  be  so  extravagantly  funny  as 
they  had  hoped.  The  Colonel  was  not,  strictly  speaking 
a  tyro;  moreover,  he  had,  as  he  said,  a  long  reach.  He 
was  no  match  indeed  for  Lemoine,  who  touched  him  twice 
in  the  first  bout  and  might  have  touched  him  thrice  had 
he  put  forth  his  strength.  But  he  did  nothing  absurd. 
When  he  dropped  his  point,  therefore,  at  the  end  of  the 
rally,  and  turning  to  take  breath  came  face  to  face  with  the 
gallery  of  onlookers,  the  best-natured  of  these  felt  rather 
foolish.  But  Colonel  John  seemed  to  find  nothing  sur- 
prising in  their  presence.     He  saluted  them  courteously 


THE    MAITRE    D'ARMES  75 

with  his  weapon.  "I  am  afraid  I  cannot  show  you  much 
sport,  gentlemen,"  he  said. 

One  or  two  muttered  something  —  a  good  day,  or  the 
Hke.  The  rest  grinned  unmeaningly.  Payton  said  noth- 
ing, but,  folding  his  arms  with  a  superior  air,  leaned 
frowning  against  the  wall. 

" Parbleu,"  said  Lemoine,  as  they  rested.  "It  is  a  pity. 
The  wrist  is  excellent,  sare.  But  the  pointing  finger  is 
not  —  is  not!" 

"I  do  my  best,"  the  Colonel  answered,  with  cheerful 
resignation.     "Shall  we  engage  again?" 

"At  your  pleasure." 

The  Frenchman's  eye  no  longer  twinkled;  his  gallantry 
was  on  its  mettle.  He  was  grave  and  severe,  fixing  his 
gaze  on  the  Colonel's  attack,  and  remaining  blind  to  the 
nods  and  shrugs  of  his  patrons  in  the  background.  Again 
he  touched  the  Colonel,  and,  alas!  again,  with  an  ease 
he  could  not  mask. 

Colonel  John,  a  little  breathed,  and  perhaps  a  little 
chagrined  also,  dropped  his  point.  Some  one  coughed, 
and  another  tittered. 

"I  think  he  will  need  another  lesson  or  two,"  Pavton 
remarked,  loudlv  enough  for  all  to  hear. 

The  man  whom  he  addressed  made  an  inaudible  answer. 
The  Colonel  turned  toward  them. 

"And  —  a  new  hand,"  Payton  added  in  the  same  tone. 

Even  for  his  henchman  the  remark  was  almost  too  much. 
But  the  Colonel,  strange  to  say  seemed  to  find  nothing 
offensive  in  it.     On  the  contrary,  he  replied  to  it. 


76  THE    WILD    GEESE 

"That  was  precisely,"  he  said,  "what  I  thought  when 
this"  —  he  indicated  his  maimed  hand  —  "happened  to 
me.     And  I  did  my  best  to  procure  one." 

"  Did  you  succeed  ?"  Payton  retorted  in  an  insolent  tone. 

"To  some  extent,"  the  Colonel  replied,  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  manner.  And  he  transferred  the  foil  to 
his  left  hand. 

"Give  you  four  to  one,"  Payton  rejoined,  "Lemoine 
hits  you  twice  before  you  hit  him  once." 

Colonel  John  had  anticipated  some  of  the  things  that 
had  happened.  But  he  had  not  foreseen  this.  He  was 
quick  to  see  the  use  to  which  he  might  put  it,  and  it  was 
only  for  an  instant  that  he  hesitated.  Then  "Four  to 
one?"   he   repeated. 

"Five,  if  you  like!"  Payton  sneered. 

"If  you  will  wager,"  the  Colonel  said  slowly,  "if  you 
will  wager  the  gray  mare  you  were  riding  this  morning, 
Sir 

Payton  uttered  an  angry  oath.  "What  do  you  mean ?" 
he  said. 

"Against  ten  guineas,"  Colonel  John  continued  care- 
lessly, bending  the  foil  against  the  floor  and  letting  it 
spring  to  its  length  again,"  I  will  make  that  wager." 

Payton  scowled  at  him.  He  was  aware  of  the  other's 
interest  in  the  mare,  and  suspected  that  he  had  come  to 
town  to  recover  her.  And  caution  would  have  had  him 
refuse  the  snare.  But  his  toadies  were  about  him,  he  had 
long  ruled  the  roost,  to  retreat  went  against  the  grain; 
while  to  suppose  that  the  man  had  the  least  chance  against 


THE    MAITRE    D'ARMES  77 

Lemoine  was  absurd.  Yet  he  hesitated.  "What  do  you 
know  about  the  mare?"  he  said  coarsely. 

"I  have  seen  her.  But  of  course,  if  you  are  afraid  to 
wager  her,  sir  " 

Pay  ton  answered  to  the  spur.  "Bah!  Afraid?"  he 
cried  contemptuously.     "Done  with  you!" 

"That  is  settled,"  the  Colonel  replied.  "I  am  at  your 
service,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  maitre  d'armes. 
"I  trust,"  indicating  that  he  was  going  to  fence  with  his 
left  hand,  "that  this  will  not  embarrass  you?" 

"No!  But  it  is  interesting,  vare  interesting,"  the 
Frenchman  replied.  "I  have  encountered  les  gauchers 
before,   and " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  saluting,  he  assumed 
an  attitude  a  little  more  wary  than  usual.  The  foils  felt 
one  another,  and  ''Oh,  va,  va!"  he  muttered.  "I  under- 
stand  the  droll!" 

For  half  a  minute  or  so  the  faces  of  the  onlookers 
reflected  only  a  mild  surprise,  mingled  with  curiosity. 
But  the  fencers  had  not  made  more  than  half  a  dozen 
serious  passes  before  this  was  changed,  before  one  face 
grew  longer  and  another  more  intent.  A  man  who  was  no 
fencer,  and  therefore  no  judge,  spoke.  A  fierce  oath 
silenced  him.  Another  murmured  an  exclamation  under 
his  breath.  Payton's  face  became  slowly  a  dull  red.  At 
length,  "Ha!"  cried  one,  drawing  in  his  breath.  And  he 
was  right.  The  maitre  d'armes'  button,  sliding  under 
the  Colonel's  blade,  had  touched  his  opponent.  At 
once,    Lemoine   sprang   back   out   of   danger,   the    two 


78  THE    WILD    GEESE 

points   dropped,    the    two   fencers   stood   back    to    take 
breath. 

For  a  few  seconds  the  Colonel's  chagrin  was  plain. 
Then  he  conquered  the  feeling,  and  smiled.  "I  fear  you 
are  too  strong  for  me,"  he  said. 

"Not  at  all,"  the  Frenchman  made  answer.  "Not  at 
all!  It  was  fortune,  sare.  I  know  not  what  you  were 
with  your  right  hand,  but  you  are  with  the  left  vare  strong, 
of  the  first  force.     It  is  certain." 

Payton,  an  expert,  had  been  among  the  earliest  to  dis- 
cern the  Colonel's  skill.  With  a  sudden  sinking  of  the 
heart,  he  had  foreseen  the  figure  he  would  cut  if  Lemoine 
were  worsted;  he  had  endured  a  moment  of  great  fear. 
But  at  this  success  he  choked  down  his  apprehension. 
One  more  hit,  one  more  success  on  Lemoine's  part,  and  he 
had  won  the  wager!  But  he  could  no  longer  bear  himself 
carelessly.  While  he  faltered,  seeking  for  a  gibe  and 
finding  none,  the  two  combatants  had  crossed  their  foils 
again.  Their  tense  features,  their  wary  movements, 
made  it  clear  that  they  played  for  a  victory  of  which  neither 
was  confident. 

Apart  from  the  wager,  it  was  clear  that  if  Lemoine  had 
not  met  his  match,  the  Captain  had;  and  doubtless  many 
in  the  room,  on  whose  toes  Payton  had  trodden,  felt  secret 
joy,  pleased  that  the  bully  of  the  regiment  was  like  to  meet 
with  a  reverse  and  a  master. 

Whatever  their  thoughts,  a  quick  rally  riveted  all  eyes 
on  the  fencers.  For  a  moment  thrust  and  parry  followed 
one  another  so  rapidly  that  the  untrained  gaze  could  not 


THE   MAITRE   D'ARMES         79 

distinguish  them  or  trace  the  play.  The  spectators  held 
their  breath,  expecting  a  hit  with  each  second.  But  the 
rally  died  away  again,  neither  of  the  players  had  got 
through  the  other's  guard;  and  now  they  fell  to  it  more 
slowly,  the  Colonel,  a  little  winded,  giving  ground,  and 
Lemoine  pressing  him. 

Then,  no  one  saw  precisely  how  it  happened,  whiff- 
whaff,  Lemoine's  weapon  flew  from  his  hand  and  struck 
the  wall  with  a  whirr  and  a  jangle.  The  fencing-master 
wrung  his  wrist.  "  Sacre!"  he  cried,  between  his  teeth, 
unable  in  the  moment  of  surprise  to  control  his  chagrin. 

The  Colonel  touched  him  with  his  button  for  form's 
sake,  then  stepped  rapidly  to  the  wall,  picked  up  the  foil 
by  the  blade,  and  courteously  returned  it  to  him.  Two 
or  three  cried  "Bravo,"  but  faintly,  as  barely  compre- 
hending what  had  happened.  The  greater  part  stood 
silent  in  sheer  astonishment.  Payton  remained  dumb 
with  mortification  and  disgust. 

Lemoine,  indeed,  the  person  more  immediately  con- 
cerned, had  eyes  only  for  his  opponent,  whom  he  regarded 
with  a  queer  mixture  of  approval  and  vexation.  "You 
have  been  at  Angelo's  school  in  Paris,  sare?"  he  said,  in 
the  tone  of  one  who  stated  a  fact  rather  than  asked  a 
question. 

"It  is  true,"  the  Colonel  answered,  smiling. 

"And  learned  that  trick  from  him?" 

"  I  did.    It  is  of  little  use  except  to  a  left-handed  man." 

"  Yet  in  play  with  one  not  of  the  first  force  it  succeeds 
twice  out  of  three  times,"  Lemoine  answered.     "Twice 


80  THE  WILD   GEESE 

out  of  three  times,  with  the  right  hand.  Ma  foil  I 
remember  it  well!  I  offered  the  master  twenty  guineas, 
monsieur,  if  he  would  teach  it  me.  But  because"  —  he 
held  out  his  palms  pathetically  —  "I  was  right-handed, 
he  would  not." 

"I  am  fortunate,"  Colonel  John  answered,  bowing, 
"in  being  able  to  requite  your  good  nature.  I  shall  be 
pleased  to  teach  it  you  for  nothing,  but  not  now.  Gentle- 
men," he  continued,  giving  up  his  foil  to  Lemoine,  and 
removing  his  mask,  "gentlemen,  you  will  bear  me  witness 
I  trust,  that  I  have  won  the  wager?" 

Some  nodded,  some  murmured  an  affirmative,  others 
turned  toward  Payton,  who  nodded  sullenly.  How 
willingly  at  that  moment  would  he  have  laid  the  Colonel 
dead  at  his  feet,  and  Lemoine,  and  the  whole  crew,  friends 
and  enemies!  "  Oh,  hang  you! "  he  said,  " Take  the  mare, 
she  's  in  the  stable!" 

At  that  a  brother  officer  touched  his  arm,  and  drew  him 
aside.  The  intervener  seemed  to  be  reminding  him  of 
something;  and  the  Colonel,  not  inattentive,  caught  the 
name  "Asgill"  twice  repeated.  But  Payton  was  too 
angry  to  care  for  minor  consequences.  He  shook  off  his 
adviser  with  a  rough  hand. 

"What  do  I  care?"  he  answered,  "He  must  shoe  his 
own  cattle!"  Then,  with  a  poor  show  of  hiding  his  spite 
under  a  cloak  of  insouciance,  he  addressed  the  Colonel. 
"The  mare  is  yours,"  he  said.  "Much  good  may  she  do 
you!" 

And  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  out  of  the  armoury. 


CHAPTER  VII 

BARGAINING 

IT  WAS  perhaps  because  Flavia  often  sought  the 
tower  beside  the  waterfall  at  sunset,  and  he  had 
noted  the  fact,  that  Luke  Asgill's  steps  bore  him 
thither  on  an  evening  three  days  after  the  Colonel's 
departure  for  Tralee.  Asgill  had  remained  at  Morris- 
town,  though  the  girl  had  not  hidden  her  distaste  for 
his  presence.  But  to  all  her  remonstrances  The 
McMurrough  had  replied,  with  his  usual  churlishness, 
that  the  man  was  there  on  business  —  did  she  want  to 
recover  her  mare,  or  did  she  not  ?  And  she  had  found 
nothing  more  to  say.  But  the  most  slavish  observance 
on  the  guest's  part,  and  some  improvement  in  her 
brother's  conduct  —  which  she  might  have  rightly 
attributed  to  Asgill's  presence  —  had  not  melted  her. 
Be  that  as  it  might,  Asgill  did  not  find  her  at  the  tower. 
But  he  thought  that  she  might  still  come,  and  he  waited, 
sitting  low,  with  his  back  against  the  ruined  wall,  that  she 
might  not  see  him  until  it  was  too  late  for  her  to  retreat. 
By  and  by  he  heard  footsteps  mounting  the  path;  his 
face  reddened,  and  he  made  as  if  he  would  rise.  But  the 
face  that  rose  above  the  brow  was  not  Flavia's,  but  her 
brother's.     And  Asgill  swore. 

81 


82  THEWILDGEESE 

The  McMiirrough  understood,  grinned,  and  threw  him- 
self on  the  ground  beside  him.  "  You  '11  be  wishing  me  in 
the  devil's  bowl,  I'm  thinking,"  he  said.  "Yet,  faith, 
I  'm  not  so  sure  —  if  you  're  not  a  fool.  For  it 's  certain 
I  am  you  '11  never  touch  so  much  as  the  sole  of  her  foot 
without  me." 

"I  'm  not  denying  it,"  the  other  answered  sulkily. 
"So  it's  mighty  little  use  your  wishing  me  away!" 
The  McMurrough  continued,  stretching  himself  at  his 
ease.  "You  can't  get  her  without  me;  nor  at  all,  at  all 
but  on  my  terms!  It  would  be  a  fine  thing  for  you,  no 
doubt,  if  you  could  sneak  round  her  behind  my  back! 
Don't  I  know  you  'd  be  all  for  old  Sir  Michael's  will  then, 
and  I  might  die  in  a  gutter,  for  you!  But  an  egg,  and  an 
egg  's  fair  sharing." 

"Have  I  said  it  was  any  other?"  Asgill  asked  gloomily. 
"The  old  place  is  mine,  and  I  'm  minded  to  keep  it." 
"And  if  any  other  marries  her,"  Asgill  said  quietly,  "he 
will  want  her  rights." 

"Well,  and  do  you  think,"  the  younger  man  answered 
in  his  ugliest  manner,  "that  if  it  were  n't  for  that  small 

fact,  Mister  Asgill " 

"And  the  small  fact,"  Asgill  struck  in,  "  that  before  your 
grandfather  died  I  lent  you  a  clear  five  hundred,  and  I  'm 
to  take  that,  that 's  my  own  already,  in  quittance  of  all! " 

"Well,  and  wasn't  it  that  same  I'm  saying?"  The 
McMurrough  retorted.  "If  it  were  n't  for  that,  and  the 
bargain  we  've  struck  d'  you  think  that  I  'd  be  letting  my 
sister  and  a  McMurrough  look  at  the  likes  of  you  ?     No, 


BARGAINING  83 

not  in  as  many  midsummer  days  as  are  between  this  and 
world  without  end!" 

The  look  Asgill  shot  at  him  would  have  made  a  wiser 
man  tremble.  But  The  McMurrough  knew  the  strength 
of  his  position. 

"And  if  I  were  to  tell  her  ?  "  Asgill  said  slowly. 

"What?" 

"That  we  've  made  a  bargain  about  her." 

"It's  the  last  strand  of  hope  you'd  be  breaking,  my 
man,"  the  younger  man  answered  briskly.  "For  you  'd 
lose  my  help,  and  she  'd  not  believe  you  —  though  every 
priest  in  Douai  backed  your  word!" 

Asgill  knew  that  that  was  true,  and  he  changed  his  tone. 
"Enough  said,"  he  replied  pacifically.  "Where  '11  we 
be  if  we  quarrel  ?  You  want  the  old  place  that  is  yours  by 
right.  And  I  want  —  your  sister."  He  swallowed  some- 
thing as  he  named  her;  even  his  tone  was  different. 
"  'T  is  one  and  one.     That 's  all." 

"And  you  're  the  one  who  wants  the  most,"  James 
replied  cunningly.  "Asgill,  my  man,  you  'd  give  your 
soul  for  her,  I  'm  thinking." 

"I  would." 

"You  would,  I  believe,"  he  continued,  with  a  leer, 
"you  're  that  fond  of  her  I  '11  have  to  look  to  her!  Hang 
me,  my  friend,  if  I  let  her  be  alone  with  you  after  this. 
Safe  bind,  safe  bind.  Women  and  fruit  are  easily 
bruised." 

Asgill  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  "You  scoundrel!"  he 
said  in  a  low  tone.     And  it  was  only  when  The  McMur- 


84  THEWILDGEESE 

rough,  surprised  by  his  movement,  turned  to  him,  that  the 
young  man  saw  that  his  face  was  black  with  passion,  so 
menacing,  that  he  also  sprang  to  his  feet.  "You  scoun- 
drel!" Asgill  repeated,  choking  on  the  words.  "If  you 
say  a  thing  like  that  again  I  '11  do  you  a  mischief.  Do  you 
hear?" 

"What  in  the  saints'  names  is  the  matter  with  you?" 
The  McMurrough  faltered. 

"You  're  not  fit  to  breathe  the  air  she  breathes!"  Asgill 
continued,  with  the  same  ferocity.  "Nor  am  II  But  I 
know  it.  And  you  don't!  Why,  man,"  he  continued,  still 
fighting  with  the  passion  that  possessed  him,  "I  would  n't 
dare  to  touch  the  hem  of  her  gown  without  her  leave. 
I  would  n't  dare  to  look  in  her  face  if  she  bade  me  not! 
She  's  as  safe  with  me  as  if  she  were  an  angel  in  heaven! 
And  you  say  —  you;   but  you  don't  understand!" 

"Faith  and  I  don't,"  The  McMurrough  answered, 
his  tone  much  lowered.     "That 's  true  for  you! " 

"No,"  Asgill  repeated.  "But  don't  you  talk  like  that 
again,  or  harm  will  come  of  it.  I  may  be  what  you  say, 
but  I  would  n't  lay  a  finger  on  your  sister  against  her  will  — 
no,  not  to  be  in  Paradise!" 

"I  thought  you  did  n't  believe  in  Paradise,"  the  younger 
man  muttered. 

"There  's  a  Paradise  I  do  believe  in,"  Asgill  answered. 
"But  never  mind  that."     He  sat  down  again. 

Strange  to  relate,  he  meant  what  he  said.  Asgill  was 
as  unscrupulous  a  man  as  the  time  in  which  he  lived  and 
the  class  from  which  he  sprang  could  show.     He  had  risen 


BARGAINING  85 

to  his  present  station  by  crushing  the  weak  and  cajoUng 
the  strong,  and  he  was  prepared  to  maintain  his  ground  by 
means  as  vile  and  a  hand  as  hard.  But  he  loved;  and 
somewhere  in  the  depths  of  his  earthly  nature  a  spark  of 
good  survived,  and  fired  him  with  so  pure  an  ardour  that 
at  the  least  hint  of  disrespect  to  his  mistress,  the  whole 
man  rose  in  arms. 

"Enough  of  that!"  Asgill  repeated  after  a  moment's 
pause.  While  he  did  not  fear,  it  did  not  suit  him  to  break 
with  his  companion.  "And,  indeed,  it  was  not  of  your 
sister  I  was  thinking  when  I  said  where  'd  we  be  if  we 
quarrelled.  For  it 's  not  I  '11  be  the  cuckoo  to  push  you 
out,  McMurrough,  lad.  But  a  man  there  is  will  play  the 
old  gray  bird  yet,  if  you  let  him  be.  And  him  with  the 
power  and  all." 

"D'you  mean  John  Sullivan?" 

"I  mean  that  same,  my  jewel." 

The  young  man  laughed  derisively.  "Pho!"  he  said, 
"you  '11  be  jesting.  For  the  power,  it 's  but  a  name.  If 
he  were  to  use,  were  it  but  the  thin  end  of  it,  it  would  run 
into  his  hand!  The  boys  would  rise  upon  him,  and 
Flawy  'd  be  the  worst  of  them.  It 's  in  the  deep 
bog  he  'd  be,  before  he  knew  where  he  was,  and 
never  'd  he  come  out,  Luke  Asgill!  Sure,  I  'm  not  afraid 
of  him!" 

"You  've  need  to  be!"  Asgill  said,  soberly. 

"Pho!  It  takes  more  than  him  to  frighten  me!  Why, 
man,  he  's  a  soft  thing,  if  ever  there  was  one!  He  '11  not 
say  boh!  to  a  goose  with  a  pistol  in  its  hand!" 


86  THEWILDGEESE 

"And  that  might  be,  if  you  were  n't  such  a  fool  as  ye  are, 
McMurrough!"  Asgill  answered.  "I  say  he  might  not 
harm  you,  if  you  had  not  the  folly  we  both  know  of  in  your 
mind.  But  I  tell  you  freely  I  '11  be  no  bonnet  to  it  while 
he  stands  by.  'T  is  too  dangerous.  Not  that  I  believe 
you  are  much  in  earnest,  my  lad.  What  's  your  rightful 
king  to  you,  or  you  to  him,  that  you  should  risk  aught  ? 
But  whether  you  go  into  it  out  of  pure  devilment,  or  just 
to  keep  right  with  your  sister " 

"Which  is  why  you  stand  bonnet  for  it,"  McMurrough 
struck  in,  with  a  grin. 

"That 's  possible.  But  I  do  that,  my  lad,  because  I 
hope  naught  may  come  of  it,  but  just  a  drinking  of  healths 
and  the  like.  So,  why  should  I  play  the  informer  and  get 
myself  misliked  ?  But  you  —  you  may  find  yourself 
deeper  in  it  than  you  think,  and  quicker  than  you  think, 
while  all  the  time,  if  the  truth  were  told"  —  with  a  shrewd 
look  at  the  other  —  "I  believe  you  've  little  more  heart  for 
it  than  myself." 

The  young  man  swore  a  great  oath  that  he  was  in  it 
body  and  soul.  But  he  laughed  before  the  words  were 
out  of  his  mouth. 

"I  don't  believe  you,"  Asgill  said,  coolly.  "You  know, 
and  I  know,  what  you  were  ready  to  do  when  the  old  man 
was  alive,  and  if  it  had  paid  you  properly.  You  'd  do  the 
same  now,  if  it  paid  you.  So  what  are  the  wrongs  of  the 
old  faith  to  you  that  you  should  risk  all  for  them?  Or 
the  rights  of  the  old  Irish,  for  the  matter  of  that?  This 
being  so,  I  tell  you,  it  is  too  dangerous  a  game  to  play  for 


BARGAINING  87 

groats.  While  John  SuIHvan  's  here,  that  makes  it  more 
dangerous.     I  '11  not  play  bonnet!" 

"  What  '11  he  know  of  it,  at  all,  at  all  ?"  James  McMur- 
rough  asked  contemptuously. 

"With  a  Spanish  ship  off  the  coast,"  Asgill  answered, 
"and  you  know  who  likely  to  land,  and  a  preaching,  may 
be,  next  Sunday,  and  pike-drill  at  the  Carraghalin  to  follow 
—  man,  in  three  days  you  may  have  smoking  roof-trees, 
and  'twill  be  too  late  to  cry  'Hold!'  Stop,  I  say,  stop 
while  you  can,  and  before  you  've  all  Kerry  in  a  flame!" 

James  McMurrough  turned  with  a  start.  "How  did 
you  know  there  was  pike-drill?"  he  cried,  sharply,  "I 
did  n't  tell  you." 

"Hundreds  know  it." 

"But  you!"  McMurrough  retorted.  It  was  plain  that 
he  was  disagreeably  surprised. 

"Did  you  think  I  meant  nothing  when  I  said  I  played 
bonnet  to  it?" 

"You  know  a  heap  too  much,  Luke  Asgill!" 

"And  could  make  a  good  market  of  it  ?  "Asgill  answered, 
coolly.  "That 's  what  you 're  thinking.  It's  heaven's 
truth  I  could  —  if  you  'd  not  a  sister." 

"And  a  care  for  your  own  skin." 

"Faith,"  Asgill  answered  with  humorous  frankness, 
"and  I  'm  plain  with  you,  that  stands  for  something.  But 
that  I  've  not  that  in  my  mind  —  I  'm  giving  you  proof, 
James  McMurrough.  Is  n't  it  I  am  praying  you  to  draw 
out  of  it  in  time,  for  all  our  sakes  ?  If  you  mean  nothing 
but  to  keep  sweet  with  your  sister,  you  're  playing  with  fire, 


88  THEWILDGEESE 

and  so  am  I !  And  for  the  rest,  if  you  are  fool  enough  to  be 
in  earnest,  which  I  '11  never  believe,  you  've  neither  money, 
nor  men,  nor  powder." 

"You  know  a  heap  of  things,  Asgill,"  James  McMur- 
rough  answered  disdainfully. 

"I  do.  And  more  by  token,  I  know  this!"  Asgill 
retorted.  He  had  risen  to  depart,  and  the  two  stood 
with  their  faces  close  together.  "This!"  he  repeated, 
clapping  one  hand  on  the  other.  "If  you  're  a  fool,  I  'm 
a  bigger.  Or  what  would  I  be  doing  ?  Why,  I  'd  be 
pressing  you  into  this,  in  place  of  holding  you  back!  And 
then  when  the  trouble  came,  and  you  'd  to  quit,  my  lad, 
and  no  choice  but  to  make  work  for  the  hangman  or  beg  a 
crust  over  seas,  and  your  sister  'd  no  more  left  than  she 
stood  up  in,  and  small  choice  either,  it 's  then  she  'd  be 
glad  to  take  Luke  Asgill,  as  she  '11  barely  look  at  now! 
Ay,  my  lad,  I  'd  win  her  then,  if  it  were  but  as  the  price 
of  saving  your  neck!  There's  naught  she'd  not  do  for 
you,  and  I  'd  ask  but  herself." 

James  McMurrough  stared  at  him,  confounded.  For 
Asgill  spoke  with  a  bitterness  as  well  as  a  vehemence  that 
betrayed  how  little  he  cared  for  the  man  he  addressed  — 
whether  he  swung  or  lived,  begged  or  famished.  His 
tone,  his  manner,  his  black  look  all  made  it  plain  that 
the  scheme  he  outlined  was  no  sudden  thought,  but  a  plan 
long  conceived,  often  studied,  and  put  aside  with  reluc- 
tance. James  shuddered,  and  his  countenance  changed. 
A  creature  of  small  vanities  and  small  vices,  worthless, 
selfish,  and  cruel,  but  as  weak  as  water,  he  quailed  before 


BARGAINING  89 

this  view  of  a  soul  darker  than  his  own.  It  was  with  a 
poor  affectation  of  defiance  that  he  made  his  answer, 

"  And  what  for,  if  it 's  as  easy  as  you  say,  don't  you  do 
it?"  he  stammered. 

Asgill  groaned.  "Because  —  but  there,  you  would  n't 
understand!  Still,  if  you  must  be  knowing,  there  's  ways 
of  winning  would  be  worse  than  losing!" 

The  McIMurrough's  confidence  began  to  return. 
"You  're  grown  scrupulous,"  he  sneered,  half  in  jest,  half 
in  earnest. 

Asgill's  answer  flung  him  down  again.  "You  may 
thank  your  stars  I  am!"  he  replied,  with  a  look  that 
scorched  the  other. 

"Well  —  well,"  McMurrough  made  an  effort  to  mutter 
—  he  was  thoroughly  disconcerted  —  "at  any  rate,  I'm 
obliged  to  you  for  your  warning." 

"You  will  be  obliged  to  me,"  Asgill  replied,  resuming 
his  ordinary  manner,  "if  you  take  my  warning  as  to  the 
big  matter;  and  also  as  to  your  kinsman,  John  Sullivan. 
For,  I  tell  you,  I  'm  afraid  of  him." 

"Of  him?"  James  cried, 

"Ay,  of  him.  Have  a  care,  have  a  care,  man,  or  he  '11 
out-general  you.  See  if  he  does  n't  poison  your  sister 
against  you!  See  if  he  does  not  make  this  hearth  too  hot 
for  you!  As  long  as  he  's  in  the  house  there  's  danger. 
I  know  the  sort,"  Asgill  continued  shrewdly,  "and  little  by 
little,  you  '11  see,  he  '11  get  possession  of  her  —  and  it 's 
weak  is  your  position  as  it  is,  my  lad." 

"Pho!" 


90  THEWILDGEESE 

*"T  is  not  'phoM  And  in  a  week  you  '11  know  it,  and 
be  as  glad  to  see  his  back  as  I  should  be  to-day!" 

"What,  a  man  who  has  not  the  spirit  to  go  out  with  a 
gentleman!" 

"A  man,  you  mean,"  Asgill  retorted,  showing  his  greater 
shrewdness,  "who  has  the  spirit  to  say  that  he  won't  go 
out!" 

"Sure,  and  I  've  not  much  opinion  of  a  man  of  that 
kind,"  McMurrough  exclaimed. 

"I  have,"  Asgill  replied.  "I'd  not  have  played  the 
trick  about  your  sister  's  mare,  if  I  'd  known  he  'd  be  here. 
It  seemed  the  height  of  invention  when  you  hit  upon  it, 
and  no  better  way  of  commending  myself.  But  I  misdoubt 
it  now.     Suppose  this  Colonel  brings  her  back?" 

"But  Payton  's  stanch." 

"Ah,  I  hold  Payton,  sure  enough,"  Asgill  answered, 
"in  the  hollow  of  my  hand,  James  McMurrough.  But 
there  's  accident,  and  there  's  what  not,  and  if  in  place  of 
my  restoring  the  mare  to  your  sister,  John  Sullivan  restored 
her  —  faith,  my  lad,  I  'd  be  laughing  on  the  other  side  of 
my  face.  And  if  he  told  what  I  '11  be  bound  he  knows  of 
you,  it  would  not  suit  you  either!" 

"It  would  not,"  The  McMurrough  replied,  with  an 
ugly  look  which  the  gloaming  failed  to  mask.  "It  would 
not.     But  there  's  small  chance  of  that." 

"Things  happen,"  Asgill  answered  in  a  sombre  tone. 
"Faith,  my  lad,  the  man  's  a  danger.  D' you  consider," 
he  continued,  his  voice  low,  "that  he  's  owner  of  all  —  in 
law;  and  if  he  said  the  word,  devil  a  penny  there  'd  be  for 


BARGAINING  91 

you!  And  no  marriage  for  your  sister  but  with  his  good 
will." 

McMurrough's  face  showed  a  shade  paler  through  the 
dusk. 

"\^Tiat  would  you  have  me  do?"  he  muttered. 

"Quit  this  plan  of  a  rising,  and  give  him  no  handle. 
That,  anyway." 

"But  that  won't  rid  us  of  him?"  McMurrough  said,  in 
a  low  voice. 

"True  for  you.  And  I  '11  be  thinking  about  that  same. 
He  's  no  footing  yet,  and  if  he  vanished  't  would  be  no 
more  than  if  he  'd  never  come.  See  the  light  below  ? 
There!  It  's  gone.  Well,  that  way  he  'd  go,  and  little 
more  talk,  if  't  were  well  plotted." 

"But  how?"     The  McMurrough  asked  nervously. 

"I  will  consider,"  Asgill  answered. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AN  AFTER-DINNER  GAME 

EASINESS,  the  failing  of  the  old-world  Irishman, 
had  been  Uncle  Ulick's  bane  through  life.  It 
was  easiness  which  had  induced  him  to  condone 
a  baseness  in  his  nephew  which  he  would  have  been  the 
first  to  condemn  in  a  stranger.  Again  it  was  easiness  which 
had  beguiled  him  into  standing  idle  while  the  brother's 
influence  was  creeping  like  strangling  ivy  over  the  girl's 
generous  nature.  But,  above  all,  it  was  easiness  which  had 
induced  Uncle  Ulick  to  countenance  in  Flavia  those 
romantic  notions,  now  fast  developing  into  full-blown 
plans,  which  he,  who  knew  the  strength  of  England  and 
the  weakness  of  Ireland,  should  have  been  the  first  to  nip 
in  the  bud. 

He  had  not  nipped  them.  Instead,  he  had  allowed  the 
reckless  patriotism  of  the  young  O'Beirnes,  and  the  simu- 
lated enthusiasm  —  for  simulated  he  knew  it  to  be  —  of 
the  young  McMurrough  to  guide  the  politics  of  the  house 
and  to  bring  it  to  the  verge  of  a  crisis.  For  he,  too,  was 
Irish!  He,  too,  felt  his  heart  too  large  for  his  bosom  when 
he  dwelt  on  his  country's  wrongs.  On  him,  too,  though 
he  knew  that  successful  rebellion  was  out  of  the  question, 
Flavia's  generous  indignation,  her  youth,  her  enthusiasm, 
wrought  powerfully. 


AN    AFTER-DINNER    GAME        93 

At  this  point  had  arrived  John  Sullivan,  a  man  of 
experience.  His  very  aspect  sobered  Uncle  Ulick's  mind. 
The  latter  saw  that  only  a  blacker  and  more  hopeless  night 
could  follow  the  day  of  vengeance  of  which  he  dreamed; 
and  he  sat  this  evening  —  while  Asgill  talked  on  the  hill 
with  The  McMurrough  —  and  was  sore  troubled.  Was  it, 
or  was  it  not,  too  late  ?  Meanwhile,  Flavia  sat  on  a  stool 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  blaze,  brooding  bitterly  over  the 
loss  of  her  mare;  and  he  knew  that  that  incident  would  not 
make  things  more  easy.  For  here  was  tyranny  brought  to 
an  every-day  level;  oppression  that  pricked  to  the  quick! 
But  the  cup  was  full  and  running  over,  and  the  oppressors 
should  rue  it!  A  short  day,  and  they  would  find  opposed 
to  them  the  despair  of  a  united  people  and  an  ancient  faith. 
Something  like  this  Flavia  had  been  saying  to  him. 

Then  silence  had  fallen.     And  now  he  made  answer. 

"I  'm  low  at  heart  about  it,  none  the  less,"  he  said. 
"War,  my  girl,  is  a  very  dreadful  thing." 

"And  what  is  slavery?"  she  replied.  There  were  red 
spots  in  her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  shone. 

"But  if  the  yoke  be  made  heavier,  my  jewel,  and  not 
lighter?" 

"Then  let  us  die!"  she  answered.  "Let  there  be  an 
end!  But  let  us  die  free!  As  it  is,  do  we  not  blush  to 
own  that  we  are  Irish?  Is  not  our  race  the  handmaid 
among  nations?  What  have  we  to  live  for?  Our  souls 
they  will  not  leave  us,  our  bodies  they  enslave,  they  take 
our  goods!  What  is  left.  Uncle  Ulick?"  she  continued, 
passionately. 


94  THEWILDGEESE 

"  Just  to  endure,"  he  said,  sadly,  "till  better  times.  Or 
what  if  we  make  things  worse  ?  Believe  me,  Flawy,  the 
last  rising " 

"Rising!"  she  cried.  "Rising!  Why  do  you  call  it 
that  ?  It  was  no  rising!  It  was  the  English  who  rose,  and 
we  who  remained  faithful  to  our  king.  It  was  they  who 
betrayed,  and  we  who  paid  the  penalty  for  treason!" 

"  Call  it  what  you  like,  my  dear,"  he  answered,  patiently, 
"'tis  not  forgotten." 

"Nor  forgiven!"  she  cried  fiercely. 

"True!  But  the  spirit  is  broken  in  us.  If  it  were  not, 
we  should  have  risen  three  years  back,  when  the  Scotch 
rose.  There  was  a  chance  then.  But  for  us  by  ourselves 
there  is  no  chance  and  no  hope.'* 

"Uncle  Ulick!"  she  answered,  looking  fixedly  at  him, 
" I  know  where  you  get  that  from!  I  know  who  has  been 
talking  to  you,  and  who"  —  her  voice  trembled  with  anger 
—  "has  upset  the  house!  It 's  meet  that  one  who  has  left 
the  faith  of  his  fathers,  and  turned  his  back  on  his  country 
in  her  trouble  should  try  to  make  others  act  as  he  has  acted 
and  be  false  as  he  has  been  false!  Caring  for  nothing 
himself,  cold,  and  heartless " 

He  was  about  to  interrupt  her,  but  on  the  word  the  door 
opened  and  her  brother  and  Asgill  entered.  She  dashed 
the  tears  from  her  eyes  and  was  silent. 

"  Sure,  and  you  've  got  a  fine  colour,  my  girl,"  The 
McMurrough  said.  "Any  news  of  the  mare?"  he  con- 
tinued, as  he  took  the  middle  of  the  hearth  and  spread  his 
skirts  to  the  blaze.     Then,  as  she  shook  her  head  despon- 


AN    AFTER-DINNER    GAME        95 

dently,  "  Bet  you  a  hundred  crowns  to  one,  Asgill,"  he  said, 
with  a  grin,  "  Cousin  SuUivan  don't  recover  her!" 

"I  could  n't  afford  to  take  it,"  Asgill  answered,  smiling. 
"But  if  Miss  Flavia  had  chosen  me  for  her  ambassador 
in  place  of  him  that 's  gone " 

"She  might  have  had  a  better  and  could  n't  have  had  a 
worse!"  James  said,  with  a  loud  laugh.  "It's  supper- 
time,"  he  continued,  after  he  had  turned  to  the  fire,  and 
kicked  the  turfs  together,  "and  late,  too!  Where  's  Darby  ? 
There  's  never  anything  but  waiting  in  this  house.  I 
suppose  you  are  not  waiting  for  the  mare  ?  If  you  are,  it 's 
empty  insides  we  'II  all  be  having  for  a  week  of  weeks." 

"I  'm  much  afraid  of  that,"  Uncle  Ulick  answered,  as 
the  girl  rose.  Uncle  Ulick  could  never  do  anything  but 
fall  in  with  the  prevailing  humour. 

Flavia  paused  half-way  across  the  floor  and  listened. 
"What 's  that?"  she  asked,  raising  her  hand  for  silence. 
"Didn't  you  hear  something?  I  thought  I  heard  a 
horse." 

"You  did  n't  hear  a  mare,"  her  brother  retorted,  grin- 
ning. "In  the  meantime,  miss,  I  'd  be  having  you  know 
we  're  hungry.     And " 

He  stopped,  startled  by  a  knock  on  the  door.  The  girl 
hesitated,  then  she  stepped  to  it,  and  threw  it  wide.  Con- 
fronting her  across  the  threshold,  looking  ghostly  against 
the  dark  background  of  the  night,  a  gray  horse  threw  up 
its  head  and,  dazzled  by  the  light,  started  back  a  pace  — 
then  blithered  gently.  Before  the  men  had  grasped  the 
truth,  Flavia  had  sprung  across  the  threshold,  her  arms 


96  THEWILDGEESE 

were  round  her  favourite's  neck,  she  was  covering  its  soft 
muzzle  with  kisses. 

"The  saints  defend  us!"  Uncle  Ulick  cried.  "It  is  the 
mare!" 

In  his  surprise  The  McMurrough  forgot  himself,  his 
role,  the  company,  and  swore.  Fortunately  Uncle  Ulick 
was  engrossed  in  the  scene  at  the  door,  and  the  girl  was  out- 
side.    Neither  heard. 

Asgill's  mortification  was  a  hundred  times  deeper,  but 
his  quicker  brain  had  taken  in  the  consequences  on  the 
instant,  and  he  stood  silent. 

"She's  found  her  way  back!"  The  McMurrough 
exclaimed,  recovering  himself. 

"  Ay,  lad,  that  must  be  it,"  Uncle  Ulick  replied.  "She  *s 
got  loose  and  found  her  way  back  to  her  stable,  heaven  be 
her  bed !  And  them  that  took  her  are  worse  by  the  loss  of 
five  pounds!" 

"Broken  necks  to  them!"  The  McMurrough  cried 
viciously. 

At  that  moment  the  door  which  led  to  the  back  of  the 
house  and  the  offices  opened,  and  Colonel  John  stepped 
in,  a  smile  on  his  face.  He  laid  his  damp  cloak  on  a 
bench,  hung  up  his  hat  and  whip,  and  nodded  to  Ulick. 

"The  Lord  save  us!  Is  it  you've  brought  her  back?" 
the  big  man  exclaimed. 

The  Colonel  nodded.  "I  thought"  —  he  looked 
toward  the  open  door  —  "it  would  please  her  to  find  the 
creature  so!" 

The  McMurrough  stood  speechless  with  mortification. 


AN    AFTER-DINNER    GAME        97 

It  was  Asgill  who  stepped  forward  and  spoke.  "I  give 
you  joy,  Colonel  Sullivan,"  he  said.  "It  is  small  chance 
I  thought  you  had." 

"I  can  believe  you,"  the  Colonel  answered  quietly. 
If  he  did  not  know  much,  he  suspected  a  good  deal. 

Before  more  could  be  said,  Flavia  McMurrough  turned 
herself  about  and  came  in  and  saw  Colonel  Sullivan.  Her 
face  flamed  hotly  as  the  words  which  she  had  just  used 
about  him  recurred  to  her;  she  could  almost  have  wished 
the  mare  away  again  if  the  obligation  went  with  her. 
To  owe  the  mare  to  him! 

But  the  thing  was  done,  and  she  found  words  at  last. 
"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  said,  "  if  it  was  really 
you  who  brought  her  back." 

"It  was  I  who  brought  her  back,"  he  answered,  hurt  by 
her  words  and  manner,  but  hiding  the  hurt.  "You  need 
not  thank  me,  I  did  it  very  willingly." 

She  felt  the  meanness  of  her  attitude,  and  "  I  do  thank 
you!"  she  said,  straining  at  warmth,  but  with  poor  success. 
"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  Colonel  Sullivan,  for  the  ser- 
vice you  have  done  me." 

"But  wish  another  had  done  it!"  he  answered,  with  the 
faintest  tinge  of  reproach  in  his  voice. 

"  No!  But  that  you  would  serve  another  as  effectively," 
she  responded. 

He  did  not  see  her  drift.     And  "What  other  ?"  he  asked. 

"Your  country,"  she  replied,  and  went  out  into  the 
night,  to  see  that  the  mare  was  safely  disposed. 

The  four  men  looked  at  one  another,  and  Uncle  Ulick 


98  THEWILDGEESE 

shrugged  his  shoulders  as  much  as  to  say,  "We  all  know 
what  women  are!"  Then,  feeling  a  storm  in  the  air,  he 
spoke  for  the  sake  of  speaking.  "Well,  James,"  he  said, 
"she's  got  her  mare,  and  you  Ve  lost  your  wager.  It 's 
good-bye  to  the  brandy,  anyway.  And,  faith,  it  '11  be  good 
news  for  the  little  French  captain.  John  Sullivan,  I  give 
you  joy.  You  '11  amend  us  all  at  this  rate!  Sure,  and  I 
begin  to  think  you  're  one  of  the  Little  People!" 

"About  the  brandy,"  The  McMurrough  said  curtly, 
"things  are  by  way  of  being  changed,  I  'd  have  you  know. 
I  'm  not  going  to  forego  a  good  ship " 

"No,  no,  a  bet's  a  bet,"  Uncle  Ulick  interposed, 
hurriedly.     "Mr.  Asgill  was  here,  and " 

"I'm  with  you,"  Asgill  said.  "Colonel  Sullivan's 
won  the  right  to  have  his  way,  and  it 's  better  so  too,  and 
safer.     Faith,  and  I  'm  glad." 

"Well,  it 's  not  I  '11  tell  O'Sullivan  Og,"  James  McMur- 
rough retorted.  "  It 's  little  he  '11  like  to  give  up  the  stuff, 
and,  in  my  opinion,"  he  added  sullenly,  "there's  more 
than  us  will  have  a  word  to  say  to  it  before  it 's  given  up. 
But  you  can  judge  of  that  for  yourselves." 

"Mr.  Crosby,  of  Castlemaine " 

"Oh!     It 's  little  he  '11  count  in  a  week  from  this!" 

"Still,  no  doubt  Colonel  Sullivan  will  arrange  it,"  Asgill 
answered,  smoothly.  It  was  evident  that  he  thought  The 
McMurrough  was  saying  too  much.  "Sure,  he  's  managed 
a  harder  thing." 

There  was  a  gleam  in  his  eye  and  something  sinister  in 
the  tone;   but  the  words  were  hearty,  and  Colonel  John 


AN  AFTER-DINNER   GAME        99 

made  no  demur.  Darby,  entering  at  that  moment  with  a 
pair  of  lights  in  tall  candlesticks  —  which  were  silver,  but 
might  have  been  copper  —  caused  a  welcome  interruption. 
A  couple  of  footboys,  with  slipshod  feet  and  bare  ankles, 
bore  in  the  meats  after  him  and  slapped  them  down  on 
the  table;  at  the  same  moment  the  O'Beirnes  and  two 
or  three  more  of  the  "family"  entered  from  the  back. 
Their  coming  lightened  the  air.  Questions  were  asked: 
Where  'd  the  Colonel  light  on  the  cratur,  and  how  'd 
he  persuade  the  rogues  to  give  her  up?  Colonel  John 
refused  to  say,  but  laughingly.  The  O'Beirnes  and  the 
others  were  in  a  good  humour,  pleased  that  the  young  mis- 
tress had  recovered  her  favourite,  and  inclined  to  look 
more  leniently  on  the  Colonel.  "Faith,  and  it 's  clear  that 
you  're  a  Sullivan ! "  quoth  one.  "There  's  none  like  them 
to  put  the  comether  on  man  and  beast!" 

This  was  not  much  to  the  taste  of  The  McMurrough  or 
of  Asgill,  who,  inwardly  raging,  saw  the  interloper  found- 
ing a  reputation  on  the  ruse  which  they  had  devised  for 
another  end.  It  was  abruptly  and  with  an  ill  grace  that 
the  master  of  the  house  cut  short  the  scene  and  bade  all 
sit  down  if  they  wanted  their  meat. 

"What  are  we  waiting  for?"  he  continued  querulously. 
"Where  's  the  girl?  Stop  your  jabbering,  Martin!  And 
Phelim " 

"Sure,  I  believe  the  mare's  got  from  her,"  Uncle  Ulick 
cried.  "I  heard  a  horse,  no  farther  back  than  this 
moment." 

"I  'm  wishing  all  horses  in  Purgatory,"  The  McMur- 


100  THEWILDGEESE 

rough  replied  angrily.  "And  fools  too!  Where's  the 
wench  gone  ?  Anyway,  I  'm  beginning.  You  can  bide 
her  time  if  you  like!" 

And  begin  he  did.  The  others,  after  looking  expectantly 
at  the  door  —  for  none  dared  treat  Flavia  as  her  brother 
treated  her  —  and  after  Asgill  had  said  something  about 
waiting  for  her,  fell  to  also,  one  by  one.  Presently  the 
younger  of  the  slipshod  footboys  let  fall  a  dish  and  was 
cursed  for  awkwardness.  Where  was  Darby?  He  also 
had  vanished. 

The  claret  began  to  go  round.  Still,  neither  Flavia  nor 
the  butler  returned.  By  and  by  the  Colonel  —  who  felt 
that  a  cloud  hung  over  the  board  as  over  his  own  spirits  — 
saw,  or  fancied  that  he  saw,  an  odd  thing.  The  door  — 
that  which  led  to  the  back  of  the  house  —  opened,  as  if 
the  draught  moved  it;  it  remained  open  a  space,  then  in  a 
silent,  ghostly  fashion  it  fell  to  again.  The  Colonel  laid 
down  his  knife,  and  Uncle  Ulick,  whose  eyes  had  followed 
his,  crossed  himself.  "That's  not  lucky,"  the  big  man 
said.  "The  saints  send  it 's  not  the  white  horse  of  the 
O'Donoghues  has  whisked  her  off!" 

"Don't  be  for  saying  such  unchancy  things,  Mr.  Sulli- 
van!" Phelim  answered,  with  a  shiver.  "What  was  it, 
at  all,  at  all?" 

"The  door  opened  without  a  hand,"  Uncle  Ulick 
explained.     "I'm  fearing  there's  something  amiss." 

"Not  with  this  salmon,"  James  McMurrough  struck  in 
contemptuously. 

Uncle  Ulick  made  no  reply,  and  a  moment  later  Darby 


AN    AFTER-DINNER    GAME      101 

entered,  slid  round  the  table  to  Uncle  Ulick's  side,  and 
touched  his  shoulder.  Whether  he  whispered  a  word  or 
not  Colonel  John  did  not  observe,  but  forthwith  the  big 
man  rose  and  went  out. 

This  time  it  was  James  McMurrough  who  laid  down  his 
knife.  "What  in  the  name  of  the  Evil  One  is  it?"  he 
cried,  in  a  temper.  "Can't  a  man  eat  his  meat  in  peace, 
but  all  the  world  must  be  tramping  the  floor?" 

"Oh,  whisht!  whisht!"  Darby  muttered,  in  a  peculiar 
tone. 

James  leaped  up.  He  was  too  angry  to  take  a  hint. 
"You  old  fool!"  he  cried,  heedless  of  Asgill's  hand,  which 
was  plucking  at  his  skirts.  "What  is  it?  What  do  you 
mean  with  your '  whishts '  and  your  nods  ?     What " 

But  the  old  butler  had  turned  his  back  on  his  master, 
and  gone  out  in  a  panic.  Fortunately  at  this  moment 
Flavia  showed  at  the  door.  "The  fault's  mine,  James," 
she  said,  in  a  clear,  loud  tone.  And  the  Colonel  saw  that 
her  colour  was  high  and  her  eyes  were  dancing.  "I 
could  n't  bear  to  leave  her  at  once,  the  darling!  That  was 
it;   and  besides,  I  took  a  fear " 

"The  pastern  's  right  enough,"  Uncle  Ulick  struck  in, 
entering  behind  her  and  closing  the  door  with  the  air  of  a 
big  man  who  does  not  mean  to  be  trifled  with.  "Sound 
as  your  own  light  foot,  my  jewel,  and  sounder  than  James's 
head!  Be  easy,  be  easy,  lad,"  he  continued,  with  a  trifle 
of  sternness.  "  Sure,  you  're  spoiling  other  men's  meat,  and 
forgetting  the  Colonel's  present,  not  to  speak  of  Mr.  Asgill, 
that,  being  a  justice,  is  not  used  to  our  Kerry  tantrums!" 


102  THEWILDGEESE 

Possibly  this  last  was  a  hint,  cunningly  veiled.  At  any 
rate,  The  McMurrough  took  his  seat  again  with  a  better 
grace  than  usual,  and  Asgill  made  haste  to  take  up  the  talk. 
The  Colonel  reflected;  nor  did  he  find  it  the  least  odd  thing 
that  Flavia,  who  had  been  so  full  of  distress  at  the  loss  of 
her  mare,  said  little  of  the  rescuer's  adventures,  nor  much 
of  the  mare  herself.  Yet  the  girl's  whole  aspect  was 
changed  in  the  last  hour.  She  seemed,  as  far  as  he  could 
judge,  to  be  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  excitement;  she  had 
shaken  off  the  timidity  which  her  brother's  temper  too 
often  imposed  on  her,  and  with  it  her  shyness  before 
strangers.  All  the  Irish  humour  in  her  fluttered  to  the 
surface,  and  her  tongue  ran  with  an  incredible  gaiety. 
Uncle  Ulick,  the  O'  Beirnes,  the  buckeens,  laughed  frank 
admiration  —  sometimes  at  remarks  which  the  Colonel 
could  not  understand,  sometimes  at  more  obvious  witti- 
cisms. Asgill  was  her  slave.  Darby,  with  the  familiarity 
of  the  old  servant,  chuckled  openly,  and  more  than 
one  dish  rolled  on  the  floor  without  drawing  down  a 
rebuke.  Even  her  brother  regarded  her  with  unwilling 
amusement. 

Could  the  change  in  her  spring  from  the  recovery  of  the 
mare,  of  which  she  said  scarce  a  word  ?  Colonel  John 
could  hardly  believe  it;  and  if  such  were  the  case,  she  was 
ungrateful,  for  the  recoverer  of  her  favourite  she  had  no 
words,  and  scarce  a  look.  Rather,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
there  must  be  two  Flavias:  the  one  shy,  modest,  and, 
where  her  country  was  not  assailed,  of  a  reserve  beyond 
reproach;  the  other  Flavia,  a  shoot  of  the   old    tree,    a 


■  R  ,\  4  T  i  ■•■-  N' . 


WHO  LUVKS  MK,  FOLLOWS  Mk!    ACKOSS  THE  WATEK 


AN   AFTER-DINNER    GAME       103 

hoyden,  a  castback  to  Sir  Michael's  wild  youth  and  the 
gay  days  of  the  Restoration  Court. 

He  Hstened  to  her  drollery,  her  ringing  laugh,  her  arch 
sayings,  with  some  blame,  but  more  admiration.  Listen- 
ing with  a  kindlier  heart,  he  discerned  that  at  her  wildest 
and  loudest  Flavia  did  not  suffer  one  light  or  unmaidenly 
word  to  pass  her  lips. 

He  gave  her  credit  for  that;  and  in  the  act  he  learned, 
with  a  reflection  on  his  stupidity,  that  there  was  method  in 
her  madness;  ay,  and  meaning  —  but  he  had  not  hitherto 
held  the  key  to  it  —  in  her  jests.  On  a  sudden  —  he  saw 
now  that  this  was  the  climax  to  which  she  had  been  leading 
up  —  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  carried  away  by  her  excite- 
ment. Erect,  defiant  —  nay,  triumphant  —  she  flung 
her  handkerchief  into  the  middle  of  the  table,  strewn  as  it 
was  with  a  medley  of  glasses  and  flasks  and  disordered 
dishes. 

"\Yho  loves  me,  follows  me!"  she  cried,  a  queer  exulta- 
tion in  her  tone  "across  the  water!" 

They  pounced  on  the  kerchief  like  dogs  let  loose  from 
the  leash  —  every  man  but  the  astonished  Colonel.  For 
an  instant  the  place  was  a  pandemonium,  a  Babel.  In  a 
twinkling  the  kerchief  was  torn,  amid  cries  of  the  wildest 
enthusiasm,  into  as  many  fragments  as  there  were  men 
round  the  table. 

"All!  —  All!"  she  cried,  still  standing  erect,  and  hound- 
ing them  on  with  the  magic  of  her  voice,  while  her  beauti- 
ful face  blazed  with  excitement.  "All— but  you?"  — 
with  which,  for  the  briefest  space,  she  turned  to  Colonel 


104  THEWILDGEESE 

John.     Her  eyes  met  his.     They  asked  him  a  defiant 
question:   they  challenged  the  answer. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  he  replied,  taken  by  surprise. 
But  indeed  he  did  understand  only  too  well.  "Is  it  a 
game?" 

The  men  were  pinning  the  white  shreds  on  their  coats 
above  their  hearts  —  even  her  brother,  obedient  for  once. 
But  at  that  word  they  turned  as  one  man  to  him,  turned 
flushed,  frowning  faces  and  passionate  eyes  on  him.  But 
Flavia  was  before  them.  "  Yes,  a  game ! "  she  cried,  laugh- 
ing, a  note  too  high.  "Don't  you  know  the  Lady's 
Kerchief?" 

"No,"  he  said  soberly;  he  was  even  a  little  out  of 
countenance. 

"Then  no  more  of  it,"  Uncle  Ulick  cried,  interposing, 
with  a  ring  of  authority  in  his  voice.  "  For  my  part,  I  'm 
for  bed.  Bed!  We  're  all  children,  bedad,  and  as  fond 
of  a  frolic!  And  I  'm  thinking  I  'm  the  worst.  The  lights 
Darby,  the  lights,  and  pleasant  dreams  to  you!     After  all — 

" '  The  spoke  that  is  to-day  on  top 
To-morrow's  on  the  ground.' 

Sure,  and  I  '11  swear  that 's  true!" 

"And  no  treason!"  The  McMurrough  answered  him, 
with  a  grin.     "Eh,  Asgill?" 

And  so  between  them  they  removed  Colonel  John's 
last  doubt  —  if  he  had  one. 


CHAPTER  IX 

EARLY  RISERS 

IT  WAS  plain  —  whatever  was  obscure  —  that  the  play 
of  the  Lady's  Kerchief  was  a  cover  for  matter  more 
serious.  Those  who  had  taken  part  in  it  had  scarcely 
deigned  to  pretend.  Colonel  John  had  been  duller  than 
the  dullest  if  he  had  not  seen  in  the  white  shreds  for  which 
the  men  had  scrambled,  and  which  they  had  affixed  with 
passion  to  their  coats,  the  White  Cockade  of  the  Pretender; 
or  found  in  Uncle  Ulick's  couplet  — 

"The  spoke  that  is  to-day  on  top 
To-morrow  's  on  the  ground  " 

one  of  those  catchwords  which  suited  the  taste  of  the  day, 
and  served  at  once  for  a  passport  and  a  sentiment. 

But  Colonel  John  knew  that  many  a  word  was  said  over 
the  claret  which  meant  less  than  nothing  next  morning; 
and  that  many  a  fair  hand  passed  the  wine  across  the  water- 
bowl  —  the  very  movement  did  honour  to  a  shapely  arm  — 
without  its  owner  having  the  least  intention  of  endanger- 
ing those  she  loved  for  the  sake  of  the  King  across  the 
Water. 

Consequently  he  knew  that  he  might  be  wrong  in  dot- 
ting the  i's  and  crossing  the  t's  of  the  scene  which  he 
had  witnessed.     Such  a  scene  might  mean  no  more  than 

105 


106  THEWILDGEESE 

a  burst  of  high  spirits:  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  it  would 
not  be  followed  by  action,  nor  import  more  than  that  sing- 
ing of  "'Twas  a'  for  our  rightful  King!"  which  had 
startled  him  on  his  arrival.  In  that  house,  in  the  wilds 
of  Kerry,  sheer  loyalty  could  not  be  expected.  The  wrongs 
of  the  nation  were  too  recent,  the  high  seas  were  too  near, 
the  wild  geese  came  and  went  too  freely  —  wild  geese  of 
another  feather  than  his.  Such  outbursts  as  he  had  wit- 
nessed were  no  more  than  the  safety-valves  of  outraged 
pride. 

Colonel  John  leaned  upon  such  arguments;  and,  dis- 
appointed and  alarmed  as  he  was  by  Flavia's  behaviour, 
he  told  himself  that  nothing  was  seriously  meant,  and 
that  with  the  morning  light  things  would  look  more 
cheerful. 

But  when  he  awoke,  after  a  feverish  and  disturbed  sleep, 
the  faint  grisly  dawn  that  entered  the  room  was  not  of  a 
character  to  inspirit.  He  turned  on  his  side  to  sleep  again ; 
but  in  the  act  he  discovered  that  the  curtain  which 
he  had  drawn  across  the  window  was  withdrawn. 
He  could  discern  the  dark  mass  of  his  clothes  piled 
on  a  chair,  of  his  hat  clinging  like  some  black  bat 
to  the  whitewashed  wall,  of  his  valise  and  saddle-bags  in 
the  corner  —  finally  of  a  stout  figure  bent,  listening,  at 
the  door. 

An  old  campaigner.  Colonel  John  was  not  easily  sur- 
prised. Repressing  the  exclamation  on  his  lips,  he  rose 
to  his  elbow  and  waited  until  the  figure  at  the  door 
straightened   itself,  and,   turning    toward    him,   became 


EARLY  RISERS  107 

recognizable  as  Uncle  Ulick.  The  big  man  crossed  the 
floor,  saw  that  he  was  awake,  and,  finger  on  lip,  enjoined 
silence.  Then  he  pointed  to  the  clothes  on  the  chair,  and 
brought  his  mouth  near  the  Colonel's  ear. 

"The  back-door!"  he  whispered.  "Under  the  yews 
in  the  garden!  Come!"  And  leaving  the  Colonel  staring 
and  mystified,  he  crept  from  the  room  with  a  stealth  and 
lightness  remarkable  in  one  so  big.  The  door  closed,  the 
latch  fell,  and  made  no  sound. 

Colonel  John  reflected  that  Uncle  Ulick  was  no  romantic 
young  person  to  play  at  mystery  for  effect.  There  was  a 
call  for  secrecy,  therefore.  The  O'Beirnes  slept  in  a  room 
divided  from  his  only  by  a  thin  partition;  and  to  gain 
the  stairs  he  must  pass  the  doors  of  other  chambers,  all 
inhabited.  As  softly  as  he  could,  and  as  quickly,  he 
dressed  himself.  He  took  his  boots  in  his  hand;  his 
sword,  perhaps  from  old  habit,  under  his  other  arm; 
in  this  guise  he  crept  from  the  room  and  down  the  dusky 
staircase.  Old  Darby  and  an  underling  were  snoring  in 
the  cub,  which  in  the  daytime  passed  for  a  pantry,  and 
both  by  day  and  by  night  gave  forth  a  smell  of  sour  corks 
and  mice;  but  Colonel  John  slid  by  the  open  door  as  noise- 
lessly as  a  shadow,  found  the  back-door  —  which  led  to  the 
fold-yard  —  on  the  latch,  and  stepped  out  into  the  cool, 
dark  morning,  into  the  sobering  freshness  and  the  clean, 
rain-washed  air. 

The  grass  was  still  gray-hued,  the  world  still  colourless 
and  mysterious,  the  house  a  long  black  bulk  against  a 
slowly  lightening  sky. 


108  THEWILDGEESE 

Colonel  John  paused  on  the  doorstep  to  draw  on  his 
boots,  then  he  picked  his  way  delicately  to  the  leather-hung 
wicket  that  broke  the  hedge  which  served  for  a  fence  to 
the  garden.  On  the  right  of  the  wicket  a  row  of  tall 
Florence  yews,  set  within  the  hedge,  screened  the  pleas- 
aunce,  such  as  it  was,  from  the  house.  Under  the  lee  of 
these  he  found  Uncle  Ulick  striding  to  and  fro  and  biting 
his  finger-nails  in  his  impatience. 

He  wrung  the  Colonel's  hand  and  looked  into  his  face. 
"You  '11  do  me  the  justice,  John  Sullivan,"  he  said,  with 
a  touch  of  passion,  "  that  never  in  my  life  have  I  been  over- 
hasty?    Eh?     Will  you  do  me  that?" 

"Certainly,  Ulick,"  Colonel  John  answered,  wondering 
much  what  was  coming. 

"And  that  I  'm  no  coward,  where  it 's  not  a  question  of 
trouble?" 

"I  '11  do  you  that  justice,  too,"  the  Colonel  answered. 
He  smiled  at  the  reservation. 

The  big  man  did  not  smile.  "Then  you'll  take  my 
word  for  it,"  he  replied,  "  that  I  'm  not  speaking  idly  when 
I  say  you  must  go." 

Colonel  John  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "  Go  ?  "  he  answered. 
"Do  you  mean  now?" 

"Ay,  now,  or  before  noon!"  Uncle  Ulick  retorted. 
"More  by  token,"  he  continued  with  bitterness,  "it's 
not  that  you  might  go  on  the  instant  that  I  've  brought  you 
out  of  our  own  house  as  if  we  were  a  couple  of  rapparees  or 
horse-thieves,  but  that  you  might  hear  it  from  me  who  wish 
you  well,  instead  of  from  those  who  may  be  '11  not  put  it 


EARLY  RISERS  109 

so  kindly,  nor  be  so  wishful  for  you  to  be  taking  the  warn- 
ing they  give." 

"Is  it  Flavia  you  're  meaning?" 

"  No;  and  don't  you  be  thinking  it,"  Uncle  Uhck  rephed 
with  a  touch  of  heat.  "Nor  the  least  bit  of  it,  John 
Sullivan!  The  girl,  God  bless  her,  is  as  honest  as  the  day, 
if " 

"If  she  's  not  very  wise!"  Colonel  John  said,  smiling. 

"  You  may  put  it  that  way  if  you  please.  For  the  matter 
of  that,  you  '11  be  thinking  she  's  not  the  only  fool  at 
Morristown,  nor  the  oldest,  nor  the  biggest.  But  the  blood 
must  run  slow,  and  the  breast  be  cold,  that  sees  the  way  the 
Saxons  are  mocking  us  and  locks  the  tongue  in  silence. 
And  sure,  there  's  no  more  to  be  said,  but  just  this  —  tliat 
there  's  those  here  you  '11  be  wise  not  to  see!  And  you  'II 
get  a  hint  to  that  end  before  the  sun  's  high." 

"And  you  'd  have  me  take  it?" 

"You  'd  be  mad  not  to  take  it!"  Uncle  Ulick  replied, 
frowning.  "Is  n't  it  for  that  I  'm  out  of  my  warm  bed, 
and  the  mist  not  off  the  lake?" 

"You  'd  have  me  give  way  to  them  and  go?" 

"Faith  and  I  would!" 

"Would  you  do  that  same  yourself,  Ulick?" 

"For  certain." 

"And  be  sorry  for  it  afterward!" 

"  Not  the  least  taste  in  life! "  Uncle  Ulick  asseverated. 

"And  be  sorry  for  it  afterward,"  Colonel  John  repeated 
quietly.  "Kinsman,  come  here,"  he  continued,  with 
unusual  gravity.     And  taking  Uncle  Ulick  by  the  arm  he 


110  THEWILDGEESE 

led  him  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  where  the  walk  looked  on 
the  lake  and  bore  some  likeness  to  a  roughly  made  terrace. 
Pausing  where  the  black  masses  of  the  Florence  yews, 
most  funereal  of  trees,  still  sheltered  their  forms  from  the 
house,  he  stood  silent.  Here  and  there  on  the  slopes 
which  faced  them  a  cotter's  hovel  stood  solitary  in  its 
potato  patch  or  its  plot  of  oats.  In  more  than  one  place 
three  or  four  cottages  made  up  a  tiny  hamlet,  from  which 
the  smoke  would  presently  rise.  To  English  eyes,  the 
scene,  these  oases  in  the  limitless  brown  of  the  bog,  had 
been  wild  and  rude;  but  to  Colonel  John  it  spoke  of  peace 
and  safety  and  comfort,  and  even  of  a  narrow  plenty.  The 
soft  Irish  air  lapped  it,  the  distances  were  mellow,  memories 
of  boyhood  rounded  off  all  that  was  unsightly  or  cold. 

He  pointed  here  and  there  with  his  hand,  and  with 
seeming  irrelevance.  "You  'd  be  sorry  afterward," 
he  said,  "for  you  'd  think  of  this,  Ulick.  God  forbid  I 
should  deny  that  even  for  this  too  high  a  price  may  be  paid. 
But  if  you  play  this  away  in  wantonness  —  if  that  which 
you  are  all  planning  come  about,  and  you  fail,  as  they  failed 
in  Scotland  three  years  back,  it  is  of  this,  it  is  of  the  women 
and  the  children  under  these  roofs  that  will  go  up  in  smoke, 
that  you  '11  be  thinking,  Ulick,  at  the  last!  Believe  me  or 
not,  this  is  the  last  thing  you  '11  see!  It  's  to  a  burden  as 
well  as  an  honour  you  're  born  where  men  doff  caps  to  you; 
and  it 's  that  burden  will  lie  the  black  weight  on  your  soul 
at  the  last.  There's  old  Darby  and  O'Sullivan  Og's 
-yvife  —  and  Pat  Mahony  and  Judy  Mahony's  four  sons, 
and  the  three  Sullivans  at  the  landing,  and  Phil  the  crowder 


EARLY    RISERS  111 

and  the  seven  tenants  at  Killabogue  —  it 's  of  them, 
it 's  of  them"  —  as  he  spoke  his  finger  moved  from  hovel 
to  hovel  —  "and  their  hke  I  'm  thinking.  You  cry  them 
and  they  follow,  for  they  're  your  folks  born.  But  what 
do  they  know  of  England  or  England's  strength,  or  what 
is  against  them,  or  the  certain  end?  They  think,  poor 
souls,  because  they  land  their  spirits  and  pay  no  dues, 
and  the  justices  look  the  other  way  —  they  think  the  black 
Protestants  are  afraid  of  them!  While  you  and  I,  you  and 
I  know,  Ulick,"  he  continued,  dropping  his  voice,  "  't  is 
because  we  lie  so  poor  and  distant  and  small,  they  give  no 
heed  to  us!     We  know!     And  that 's  our  burden." 

The  big  man's  face  worked.  He  threw  out  his  arms. 
"God  help  us!"  he  cried. 

" He  will,  in  His  day!  I  tell  you  again,  as  I  told  you  the 
hour  I  came,  I,  who  have  followed  the  wars  for  twenty 
years,  there  is  no  deed  that  has  not  its  reward  when  the 
time  is  ripe,  nor  a  cold  hearth  that  is  not  paid  for  a 
hundredfold!" 

Uncle  Ulick  looked  sombrely  over  the  lake.  "I  shall 
never  see  it,"  he  said.  "Notwithstanding,  I  '11  do  what 
I  can  to  quiet  them  —  if  it  be  not  too  late." 

"Too  late?" 

"  Ay,  too  late,  John.  But  anyway,  I  '11  be  minding  what 
you  say.  On  the  other  hand,  you  must  go,  and  this  very 
day  that  ever  is." 

"There  are  some  here  that  I  must  not  be  seeing?" 
Colonel  John  said,  shrewdly. 

"That 's  it." 


112  THEWILDGEESE 

"  And  if  I  do  not  go,  Ulick  ?     What  then,  man  ? ' ' 

"Whisht!  Whisht!"  the  big  man  cried  in  unmistak- 
able distress.  "  Don't  say  the  word!  Don't  say  the  word, 
John,  dear." 

"But  I  must  say  it,"  Colonel  John  answered,  smiling. 
"To  be  plain,  Ulick,  here  I  am  and  here  I  stay.  They 
wish  me  gone  because  I  am  in  the  way  of  their  plans.  Well, 
and  can  you  give  me  a  better  reason  for  staying  ?" 

What  argument  Ulick  would  have  used,  what  he  was 
opening  his  mouth  to  say,  remains  unknown.  Before  he 
could  reply  the  murmur  of  a  voice  near  at  hand  startled 
them  both.  Uncle  Ulick's  face  fell,  and  the  two  turned 
with  a  single  movement  to  see  who  came. 

They  discerned,  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall  of  yew,  two 
men,  who  had  just  passed  through  the  wicket  into  the 
garden. 

The  strangers  saw  them  at  the  same  moment,  and  were 
equally  taken  by  surprise.  The  foremost  of  the  two,  a 
sturdy,  weather-beaten  man,  with  a  square,  stern  face  and 
a  look  of  power,  laid  his  hand  on  his  cutlass  —  he  wore  a 
broad  blade  in  place  of  the  usual  rapier.  The  other, 
whom  every  line  of  his  shaven  face,  as  well  as  his  dress, 
proclaimed  a  priest  —  and  perhaps  more  than  a  priest  — 
crossed  himself  and  muttered  something  to  his  companion. 
Then  he  came  forward. 

"You  take  the  air  early,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  the  French 
accent  very  plain  in  his  speech,  "as  we  do.  If  I  mistake 
not,"  he  continued,  looking  with  an  easy  smile  at  Colonel 
John,  "your  Protestant  kinsman,  of  whom  you  told  me. 


EARLY    RISERS  113 

Mr.  Sullivan  ?  I  did  not  look  to  meet  you,  Colonel  Sul- 
livan ;  but  I  do  not  doubt  you  are  man  of  the  world  enough 
to  excuse,  if  you  cannot  approve,  the  presence  of  the 

shepherd  among  his  sheep.     The  law  forbids,  but " 

still  smiling,  he  finished  the  sentence  with  a  gesture  in  the 
air. 

"I  approve  all  men,"  Colonel  John  answered,  quietly, 
"who  are  in  their  duty,  father." 

"But  wool  and  wine  that  pay  no  duty?"  the  priest 
replied,  turning  with  a  humorous  look  to  his  companion, 
who  stood  beside  him  unsmiling.  "I'm  not  sure  that 
Colonel  Sullivan  extends  the  same  indulgence  to  free- 
traders. Captain  Machin." 

Colonel  John  looked  closely  at  the  man  thus  brought  to 
his  notice.  Then  he  raised  his  hat  courteously.  "Sir," 
he  said,  "the  guests  of  the  SuUivans,  whoever  they  be,  are 
sacred  to  the  Sullivans." 

Uncle  Ulick's  eyes  had  met  the  priest's,  as  eyes  meet  in 
a  moment  of  suspense.  At  this  he  drew  a  deep  breath  of 
relief.  "Well  said,"  he  muttered.  "Bedad,  it  is  some- 
thing to  have  seen  the  world!" 

"  You  have  served  under  the  King  of  Sweden,  I  believe  ?  " 
the  ecclesiastic  continued,  addressing  Colonel  John  with 
a  polite  air.  He  held  a  book  of  offices  in  his  hand,  as  if 
his  purpose  in  the  garden  had  been  merely  to  read  the 
service. 

"Yes." 

"A  great  school  of  war,  I  am  told  ?" 

"It  may  be  called  so.      But  I  interrupt  you,  father,  and 


114  THEWILDGEESE 

with   your    permission    I    will    bid    you  good  morning. 
Doubdess  we  shall  meet  again." 

"At  breakfast,  I  trust,"  the  ecclesiastic  answered,  with 
a  certain  air  of  intention.  Then  he  bowed  and  they 
returned  it,  and  the  two  pairs  gave  place  to  one  another 
with  ceremony,  Colonel  John  and  Ulick  passing  out 
through  the  garden  wicket,  while  the  strangers  moved  on 
toward  the  walk  which  looked  over  the  lake.  Here  they 
began  to  pace  up  and  down. 

With  his  hand  on  the  house  door  Uncle  Ulick  made  a 
last  attempt.  "For  God's  sake,  be  easy  and  go,"  he 
muttered,  his  voice  unsteady,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
other's,  as  if  he  would  read  his  mind.  "Leave  us  to  our 
fate !  You  cannot  save  us  —  you  see  what  you  see,  you 
know  what  it  means.  And  for  what  I  know,  you  know  the 
man.     You  '11  but  make  our  end  the  blacker." 

"And  the  girl?" 

Uncle  Ulick  tossed  his  hands  in  the  air.  "God  help 
her!"  he  said. 

"Shall  not  we  too  help  her?" 

"We   cannot." 

"It  may  be.  Still,  let  us  do  our  duty,"  Colonel  John 
replied.  He  was  very  grave.  Things  were  worse,  the 
plot  was  thicker,  than  he  had  feared. 

Uncle  Ulick  groaned.  "You  '11  not  be  bidden  ?"  he  said. 

"Not  by  an  angel,"  Colonel  John  answered  steadfastly. 
"And  I  've  seen  none  this  morning,  but  only  a  good  man 
whose  one  fault  in  life  is  to  answer  to  all  men  '  Sure,  and  I 
will!'" 


EARLY  RISERS  115 

Uncle  Ulick  started  as  if  the  words  stung  him.  "You 
make  a  jest  of  it!"  he  said.  "Heaven  send  we  do  not 
sorrow  for  your  wilfulness.  For  my  part,  I  've  small  hope 
of  that  same."  He  opened  the  door,  and,  turning  his 
back  upon  his  companion,  went  heavily,  and  without  any 
attempt  at  concealment,  past  the  pantry  and  up  the  stairs 
to  his  room. 

To  answer  "Yes"  to  all  comers  and  all  demands  is 
doubtless,  in  the  language  of  Uncle  Ulick,  a  mighty  con- 
venience and  a  great  softener  of  the  angles  of  life.  But 
a  time  comes  to  the  most  easy  when  he  must  answer  "No," 
or  go  open-eyed  to  ruin.  Then  he  finds  that,  from  long 
disuse,  the  word  will  not  shape  itself;  or,  if  uttered,  it  is 
taken  for  naught.  That  time  had  come  for  Uncle  Ulick. 
Years  ago  his  age  and  experience  had  sufficed  to  curb  the 
hot  blood  about  him.  But  he  had  been  too  easy  to  dictate 
while  he  might,  and  to-day  he  must  go  the  young  folks' 
way,  seeing  all  too  plainly  the  end  of  it. 

But  Colonel  John  was  of  another  kind  and  another 
mind.  Often  in  the  Swedish  wars  had  he  seen  a  fair 
country-side  changed  in  one  day  into  a  waste,  from  the 
recesses  of  which  naked  creatures  with  wolfish  eyes  stole 
out  at  night,  maddened  by  their  wrongs,  to  wreak  a  horrid 
vengeance  on  the  passing  soldier.  He  knew  that  the 
fairest  parts  of  Ireland  had  undergone  such  a  fate  within 
living  memory.  Therefore  he  was  firmly  minded,  as  one 
man  could  be,  that  not  again  should  the  corner  of  Kerry 
under  his  eyes,  the  corner  he  loved,  the  corner  entrusted 
to  him,  suffer  that  fate. 


116  THEWILDGEESE 

Yet,  when  he  descended  to  breakfast,  his  face  told  no 
tale  of  his  thoughts,  and  he  greeted  with  a  smile  the  unusual 
brightness  of  the  morning.  Nor,  as  he  sunned  himself  and 
inhaled  with  enjoyment  the  freshness  of  the  air,  did  any 
sign  escape  him  that  he  marked  a  change. 

But  he  was  not  blind.  Among  the  cripples  and  vagrants 
who  lounged  about  the  entrance  he  detected  six  or  eight 
ragged  fellows  whose  sunburnt  faces  were  new  to  him  and 
who  certainly  were  not  cripples.  In  the  doorway  of  one 
of  the  two  towers  that  fronted  him  across  the  court  stood 
O'Sullivan  Og,  whittling  a  stick  and  chatting  with  a  sturdy 
idler  in  seafaring  clothes.  The  Colonel  could  not  give  his 
reason,  but  he  had  not  looked  twice  at  these  two  before  he 
got  a  notion  that  there  was  more  in  that  tower  this  morning 
than  the  old  ploughs  and  the  broken  boat  which  commonly 
filled  the  ground  floor,  or  the  grain  which  was  stored  above. 
Powder?  Treasure?  He  could  not  say  which  or  what; 
but  he  felt  that  the  open  door  was  a  mask  that  deceived 
no  one. 

And  there  was  a  stir,  there  was  a  bustle  in  the  court; 
a  sparkle  in  the  eyes  of  some  as  they  glanced  slyly  and 
under  their  lashes  at  the  house,  a  lilt  in  the  tread  of  others 
as  they  stepped  to  and  fro.  Some  strange  change  had 
fallen  upon  Morristown,  and  imbued  it  with  life. 

He  caught  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  house,  and  he 
turned  about  and  entered.  The  priest  and  Captain 
Machin  had  descended  and  were  standing  with  Uncle 
Ulick  warming  themselves  before  the  wood  fire.  The 
McMurrough,  the  O'Beirnes,  and  two  or  three  strangers  — 


EARLY  RISERS  117 

grim-looking  men  who  had  followed,  a  glance  told  him,  the 
trade  he  had  followed  —  formed  a  group  a  little  apart, 
yet  near  enough  to  be  addressed.  Asgill  was  not  present, 
nor  Flavia. 

"Good  morning,  again,"  Colonel  John  said.  And  he 
bowed. 

"With  all  my  heart.  Colonel  Sullivan,"  the  priest 
answered  cordially.  And  Colonel  John  saw  that  he  had 
guessed  aright:  the  speaker  no  longer  took  the  trouble  to 
hide  his  episcopal  cross  and  chain,  or  the  ring  on  his 
finger.  There  was  an  increase  of  dignity,  too,  in  his 
manner.     His  very  cordiality  seemed  a  condescension. 

Captain  Machin  bowed  silently,  while  The  McMur- 
rough  and  the  O'Beirnes  looked  darkly  at  the  Colonel. 
They  did  not  understand :  it  was  plain  that  they  were  not 
in  the  secret  of  the  morning  encounter. 

"I  see  O'Sullivan  Og  is  here,"  the  Colonel  said,  address- 
ing Uncle  Ulick.     "That  will  be  very  convenient." 

"  Convenient  ?"  Uncle  Ulick  repeated,  looking  blank. 

"We  can  give  him  the  orders  as  to  the  Frenchman's 
cargo,"  the  Colonel  said,  calmly. 

Uncle  Ulick  winced.  "Ay,  to  be  sure!  To  be  sure, 
lad,"  he  answered.  But  he  rubbed  his  head,  like  a  man 
in  a  difficulty. 

The  Bishop  seemed  to  be  going  to  ask  a  question. 
Before  he  could  speak,  however,  Flavia  came  tripping 
down  the  stairs,  a  gay  song  on  her  lips.  Half  way  down, 
the  song,  light  and  sweet  as  a  bird's,  came  to  a  sudden  end. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  late!"  she  said.     And  then  —  as 


118  THEWILDGEESE 

the  Colonel  supposed  —  she  saw  that  more  than  the  family 
party  were  assembled:  that  the  Bishop  and  Captain 
Machin  were  there  also,  and  the  strangers  —  and,  above 
all,  that  he  was  there.  She  descended  the  last  three  stairs 
silently,  but  with  a  heightened  colour,  moved  proudly  into 
the  middle  of  the  group,  and  curtsied  before  the  ecclesiastic 
till  her  knee  touched  the  floor. 

He  gave  her  his  hand  to  kiss,  with  a  smile  and  a  mur- 
mured blessing.     She  rose  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  good  morning! "  she  said,  as  one  who  having  done 
her  duty  could  be  cheerful. 

"It  is  a  very  fine  morning,"  the  Bishop  answered  In  the 
same  spirit.  "The  sun  shines  on  us,  as  we  would  have 
him  shine.  And  after  breakfast,  with  your  leave,  my 
daughter,  and  your  brother's  leave,  we  will  hold  a  little 
council.  What  say  you,  Colonel  Sullivan  ?"  he  continued, 
turning  to  the  Colonel.  "A  family  council?  Will  you 
jom  us : 

The  McMurrough  uttered  an  exclamation,  so  unex- 
pected and  strident,  that  the  words  were  not  articulate. 
But  the  Bishop  understood  them,  for,  as  all  turned 
to  him,  "  Nay,"  he  said,  "  it  shall  be  for  the  Colonel  to  say. 
But  it 's  ill  arguing  with  a  fasting  man,"  he  continued 
genially,  "and  by  your  leave  we  will  return  to  the  matter 
after  breakfast!" 

"I  am  not  for  argument  at  all,"  Captain  Machin  said. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  spoken. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR 

THE  meal  had  been  eaten,  stolidly  by  some,  by 
others  with  a  poor  appetite,  by  Colonel  John 
with  a  thoughtful  face.  Two  men  of  family? 
but  broken  fortunes,  old  Sir  Donny  McCarthy  of  Dingle, 
and  Timothy  Burke  of  Maamtrasna,  had  joined  the  party 
—  under  the  rose,  as  it  were,  and  neither  giving  nor  receiv- 
ing a  welcome.  Now  old  Darby  kept  the  door  and  the 
Bishop  the  hearth;  whence,  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
glowing  peat,  he  could  address  his  audience  with  eye  and 
voice.  The  others,  risen  from  the  table,  had  placed  them- 
selves here  and  there  where  they  pleased.  The  courtyard, 
visible  through  the  windows,  seethed  with  an  ever-increas- 
ing crew  of  peasantry,  frieze-coated  or  half  bare,  who 
whooped  and  jabbered,  now  about  one  of  their  number, 
now  about  another.  The  Irish  air  was  soft,  the  hum  of 
voices  cheerful;  nor  could  anything  less  like  a  secret 
council,  less  like  a  meeting  of  men  about  to  commit 
themselves  to  a  dark  and  dangerous  enterprise,  be  well 
imagined. 

But  no  one  was  deceived.  The  courage,  the  enthusiasm, 
that  danced  in  Flavia's  eyes  were  reflected  more  darkly  and 
more  furtively  in  a  score  of  faces,  within  the  room  and 

119 


120  THEWILDGEESE 

without.  To  enjoy  one  hour  of  triumph,  to  wreak  upon 
the  cursed  EngHsh  a  tithe  of  the  wrongs,  a  tithe  of  the 
insults,  that  their  country  had  suffered,  to  be  the  spoke 
on  top,  were  it  but  for  a  day,  to  die  for  Ireland  if  they  could 
not  live  for  her.  Could  man  own  Irish  blood,  and  an 
Irish  name,  and  not  rise  at  the  call  ? 

If  there  were  such  a  man,  oh!  cowardly,  mean,  and 
miserable  he  seemed  to  Flavia  McMurrough.  Much  she 
marvelled  at  the  patience,  the  consideration,  the  argu- 
ments which  the  silver-tongued  ecclesiastic  brought  to 
bear  upon  him.  She  longed  to  denounce  him,  to  bid  him 
begone,  and  do  his  worst. 

But  she  was  a  young  plotter,  and  he  who  spoke  from  the 
middle  of  the  hearth  with  so  much  patience  and  forbear- 
ance was  an  old  one,  proved  by  years  of  peril,  and  tem- 
pered by  a  score  of  failures;  a  man  long  accustomed  to 
play  with  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  men.  He  knew  better 
than  she  what  was  at  stake  to  win  or  lose;  nor  was  it 
without  forethought  that  he  had  determined  to  risk  much 
to  gain  Colonel  Sullivan.  To  his  mind,  and  to  Machin's 
mind,  the  other  men  in  the  room  were  but  tools  to  be  used, 
puppets  to  be  danced.  But  this  man  —  for  among 
soldiers  of  fortune  there  is  a  camaraderie,  so  that  they  are 
known  to  one  another  by  repute  from  the  Baltic  to  Cadiz  — 
was  a  coadjutor  to  be  gained.  He  was  one  whose  experi- 
ence, joined  with  an  Irish  name,  might  well  avail  them 
much. 

Colonel  John  might  refuse,  he  might  be  obdurate.  But 
in  that  event  the  Bishop's  mind  was  made  up.     Flavia 


ACOUNCILOFWAR  121 

supposed  that,  if  the  Colonel  held  out  he  would  be  dis- 
missed, and  so  an  end.  But  the  speaker  made  no  mistake. 
He  had  chosen  to  grip  the  nettle  danger,  and  he  knew  that 
gentle  measures  were  no  longer  possible.  He  must  enlist 
Colonel  Sullivan,  or  —  but  it  has  been  said  that  he  was 
no  novice  in  dealing  with  the  lives  of  men. 

"If  it  be  a  question  only  of  the  chances,"  he  said,  after 
some  beating  about  the  bush,  "if  I  am  right  in  supposing 
that  it  is  only  that  which  withholds  Colonel  Sullivan  from 
joining  us " 

*'I  do  not  say  it  is,"  Colonel  John  replied  very  gravely, 
"But  to  deal  with  it  on  that  basis:  while  I  can  admire, 
reverend  sir,  the  man  who  is  ready  to  set  his  life  on  a 
desperate  hazard  to  gain  something  which  he  sets  above 
that  life,  I  take  the  case  to  be  different  where  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  the  lives  of  others.  Then  I  say  the  chances  must  be 
weighed." 

"However  sacred  the  cause  and  high  the  aim?" 

"I  think  so." 

The  Bishop  sighed,  his  chin  sinking  on  his  breast.  "I 
am  sorry,"  he  said,  "I  am  sorry," 

"That  we  cannot  see  alike  in  a  matter  so  grave? 
Yes,  sir,  so  am  I." 

"No.     That  I  met  you  this  morning." 

"I  am  not  sorry,"  Colonel  John  replied,  stoutly  refusing 
to  see  the  other's  meaning.  "  For  —  hear  me  out,  I  beg. 
You  and  I  have  seen  the  world  and  can  weigh  the  chances. 
Your  friend,  too,  Captain  Machin"  — he  pronounced  the 
name   in    an  odd  tone  —  "he  too  knows  on  what  he  is 


122  THEWIl^DGEESE 

embarked  and  how  he  will  stand  if  the  result  be  failure. 
It  may  be  that  he  already  has  his  home,  his  rank,  and  his 
fortune  in  foreign  parts,  and  will  be  little  the  worse  if  the 
worst  befall." 

"I?"  Machin  cried,  stung  out  of  his  taciturnity.  "Let 
me  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  fling  back  the  insinuation!" 

But  the  Colonel  proceeded  as  if  the  other  were  not 
speaking.  "You,  reverend  sir,  yourself,"  he  continued, 
"know  well  on  what  you  are  embarking,  its  prospects, 
and  the  issue  for  you  if  it  fail.  But  you  are  by  your  pro- 
fession and  choice  devoted  to  a  life  of  danger.  You  are 
willing,  day  by  day  and  hour  by  hour,  to  run  the  risk  of 
death.  But  these,  my  cousin  there"  —  looking  with  a 
kind  eye  at  Flavia  —  "she " 

"Leave  me  out!"  she  cried,  passionately.  And  she  rose 
to  her  feet,  her  face  on  fire.  "  I  separate  myself  from  you ! 
I,  for  my  part,  ask  no  better  than  to  suffer  for  my  country! " 

"She  thinks  she  knows,  but  she  does  not  know,"  the 
Colonel  continued  quietly,  unmoved  by  her  words.  "She 
cannot  guess  what  it  is  to  be  cast  adrift  —  alone,  a  woman, 
penniless,  in  a  strange  land.  And  yet  that  at  the  best  — 
and  the  worst  may  be  unspeakably  worse  —  must  be  her 
fate  if  this  plot  miscarry!  For  others,  The  McMurrough 
and  his  friends  yonder"  — he  indicated  the  group  by  the 
window  —  "they  also  are  ignorant." 

The  McMurrough  sprang  to  his  feet,  spluttering  with 
rage.     "Speak  for  yourself!"  he  cried 

"They  know  nothing,"  the  Colonel  continued,  quite 
unmoved,  "of  that  force  against  which  they  are  asked  to 


A    COUNCIL   OF   WAR  123 

pit  themselves,  of  that  stolid  power  over  sea,  never  more 
powerful  than  now!" 

"The  saints  will  be  between  us  and  harm!"  the  eldest 
of  the  O'Beirnes  cried,  rising  in  his  wrath.  "It 's  speak 
foT  yourself  I  say  too!" 

"And   I!" 

"And  I!"  others  of  the  group  roared  with  gestures  of 
defiance. 

One,  stepping  forward,  snapped  his  fingers  close  to  the 
Colonel's  face.  "Thatforyou!  —  thatforyou!"  he  cried. 
"Now,  or  whenever  you  will,  day  or  night,  and  sword  or 
pistol!  To  the  devil  with  your  impudence,  sir;  I  'd  have 
you  know  you  're  not  the  only  man  has  seen  the  world. 
The  shame  of  the  world  on  you,  talking  like  a  school- 
master while  your  country  cries  for  you,  and  't  is  not  your 
tongue  but  your  hand  she  's  wanting!" 

Uncle  Ulick  put  his  big  form  between  Colonel  John  and 
his  assailant.  "Sure  and  be  easy!"  he  said.  "SirDonny, 
you  're  forgetting  yourself!  And  you,  Tim  Burke!  Be 
easy,  I  say.     It 's  only  for  himself  the  Colonel's  speaking! " 

"Thank  God  for  that!"  Flavia  cried  in  a  voice  which 
rang  high. 

They  were  round  him  now,  a  ring  of  men  with  dark, 
angry  faces,  and  hardly  restrained  hands.  But  the  Bishop 
intervened. 

"One  moment,"  he  said,  still  speaking  smoothly 
and  with  a  smile.  "Perhaps  it  is  for  those  he  thinks  he 
speaks!"  And  the  Bishop  pointed  to  the  crowd  which 
filled  the  forecourt.     "Perhaps  it  is  for  those  he  thinks 


124  THEWILDGEESE 

he  speaks!"  he  repeated  in  irony  —  for  of  the  feeling  of 
the  crowd  there  could  be  no  doubt. 

Colonel  John  replied,  "It  is  on  their  behalf  I  appeal  to 
you.  For  it  is  they  who  foresee  the  least,  and  they  who  will 
suffer  the  most.  It  is  they  who  will  follow  like  sheep,  and 
they  who  like  sheep  will  go  to  the  butcher!  Ay,  it  is  they," 
he  continued  with  deeper  feeling,  and  he  turned  to  Flavia, 
"who  are  yours,  and  they  will  pay  for  you.  Therefore," 
raising  his  hands  for  silence,  "before  you  name  the  prize, 
sum  up  the  cost!  Your  country,  your  faith,  your  race  — 
there  are  great  things,  but  they  are  far  off  and  can  do 
without  you.  But  these  —  these  are  that  fragment  of 
your  country,  that  handful  of  your  race  which  God  has 
laid  in  the  palm  of  your  hand,  to  cherish  or  to  crush, 
and " 

"The  devil!"  Machin  ejaculated  with  sudden  violence. 
Perhaps  he  read  in  the  girl's  face  some  shadow  of  perplexity. 
"Have  done  with  your  preaching,  sir,  I  say!  Have  done, 
man.     If  we  fail " 

"You  must  fail!"  Colonel  John  retorted.  "You  will 
fail!  And  failing,  sir,  his  reverence  will  stand  no  worse 
than  now,  for  his  life  is  forfeit  already!     While  you " 

"What  of  me?  Well,  what  of  me?"  the  stout  man 
cried  truculently.  His  brows  descended  over  his  eyes, 
and  his  lips  twitched. 

"For  you,  Admiral  Cammock " 

The  other  stepped  forward  a  pace.     "You  know  me?" 

"Yes,  I  know  you." 

There  was  silence  for  an  instant,  while  those  who  were 


ACOUNCILOFWAR  125 

in  the  secret  eyed  Colonel  Sullivan  askance,  and  those 
who  were  not  gaped  at  Cammock. 

Soldiers  of  fortune,  of  fame  and  name,  were  plentiful 
in  those  days,  but  seamen  of  equal  note  were  few.  And 
with  this  man's  name  the  world  had  lately  rung.  An 
Irishman,  he  had  risen  high  in  Queen  Anne's  service; 
but  at  her  death,  incited  by  his  devotion  to  the  Stuarts, 
he  had  made  a  move  for  them  at  a  critical  moment.  He 
had  been  broken,  being  already  a  notable  man;  on  which 
he  had  entered  the  Spanish  marine,  and  been  advanced  to 
a  position  of  rank  and  power.  In  Ireland  his  life  was 
forfeit,  Great  Britain  counted  him  renegade  and  traitor. 
So  that  to  find  himself  recognized,  though  grateful  to  his 
vanity,  was  a  shock  to  his  discretion. 

"Well,  and  knowing  me?"  he  replied  at  last,  with  the 
tail  of  his  eyes  on  the  Bishop,  as  if  he  would  gladly  gain  a 
hint  from  his  subtlety.     "What  of  me?" 

"You  have  your  home,  your  rank,  your  relations 
abroad,"  Colonel  Sullivan  answered  firmly.  "  If  a  descent 
on  the  coast  be  a  part  of  your  scheme,  then  you  do  not 
share  the  peril  equally  with  us.  We  shall  suffer,  while  you 
sail  away." 

"  I  fling  that  in  your  teeth! "  Cammock  cried.  "  I  know 
you  too,  sir,  and " 

"Know  no  worse  of  me  than  of  yourself!"  Colonel  Sulli- 
van retorted.  "But  if  you  do  indeed  know  me,  you  know 
that  I  am  not  one  to  stand  by  and  see  my  friends  led  blind- 
fold to  certain  ruin.  It  may  suit  your  plans  to  make  a 
diversion  here.     But  that  diversion  is  a  part  of  larger 


126  THE  WILD   GEESE 

schemes,  and  the  fate  of  those  who  make  it  is  Httle 
to  you." 

Cammock's  hand  flew  to  his  belt,  he  took  a  step  forward, 
his  face  suffused  with  passion.  "For  half  as  much  I 
have  cut  a  man  down!"  he  cried. 

"May  be,  but " 

"Peace,  peace,  my  friends,"  the  Bishop  interposed.  He 
laid  a  warning  hand  on  Cammock's  arm.  "This  gentle- 
man," he  continued  smoothly,  "thinks  he  speaks  for  our 
friends  outside." 

"Let  me  speak,  not  for  them,  but  to  them,"  Colonel 
Sullivan  replied  impulsively.  "Let  me  tell  them  what  I 
think  of  this  scheme,  of  its  chances,  of  its  certain  end!" 

He  moved,  whether  he  thought  they  would  let  him  or 
not,  toward  the  window.  But  he  had  not  taken  three 
steps  before  he  found  his  progress  barred,  "What  is 
this?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Needs  must  with  so  impulsive  a  gentleman,"  the 
Bishop  said.  He  had  not  moved,  but  at  a  signal  from  him 
The  McMurrough,  the  O'Beirnes  and  two  of  the  other 
young  men  had  thrust  themselves  forward.  "You  must 
give  up  your  sword.  Colonel  Sullivan,"  he  continued. 

The  Colonel  retreated  a  pace,  and  evinced  more  surprise 
than  he  felt.  "  Give  up  —  do  you  mean  that  I  am  a 
prisoner?"  he  cried.  He  had  not  drawn,  but  two  or  three 
of  the  young  men  had  done  so,  and  Flavia,  in  the  back- 
ground by  the  fire  was  white  as  paper  —  so  suddenly  had 
the  shadow  of  violence  fallen  on  the  room. 

"You  must  surrender!"  the  Bishop  repeated  firmly. 


ACOUNCILOFWAR  127 

He  too  was  a  trifle  pale,  but  he  was  used  to  such  scenes 
and  he  spoke  with  decision.  "Resistance  is  vain.  I 
hope  that  with  this  lady  in  the  room " 

"One  moment!"  the  Colonel  cried,  raising  his  hand. 
But  as  The  McMurrough  and  the  others  hesitated,  he 
whipped  out  his  sword  and  stepped  two  paces  to  one  side 
with  an  agility  no  one  had  foreseen.  He  now  had  the  table 
behind  him  and  Uncle  Ulick  on  his  left  hand.  "One 
moment!"  he  repeated,  raising  his  hand  in  deprecation 
and  keeping  his  point  lowered.     "Do  you  consider " 

"We  consider  our  own  safety,"  Cammock  answered 
grimly.  And  signing  to  one  of  the  men  to  join  Darby  at 
the  door,  he  drew  his  cutlass.  "You  know  too  much  to 
go  free,  sir,  that  is  certain." 

"  Ay,  faith,  you  do,"  The  McMurrough  chimed  in  with  a 
sort  of  glee.  ' '  He  was  at  Tralee  yesterday,  no  less.  We  '11 
have  the  garrison  here  before  the  time!" 

"But  by  the  powers,"  Uncle  Ulick  cried,  "ye  shall  not 
hurt  him!  Your  reverence! "  —  the  big  man's  voice  shook 
—  "your  reverence,  this  shall  not  be!  It's  not  in  this 
house  they  shall  murder  him,  and  him  a  Sullivan!  Flavia! 
Speak,  girl,"  he  continued,  the  perspiration  standing  on 
his  brow.  "Say  ye  '11  not  have  it.  After  all,  it 's  your 
house!  There  shall  be  no  Sullivan  blood  spilt  in  it  while 
I  am  standing  by  to  prevent  it!" 

"Then  let  him  give  up  his  sword!"  Cammock  answered 
doggedly. 

"Yes,  let  him  give  up  his  sword,"  Flavia  said  in  a  small 
voice. 


128  THEWILDGEESE 

"Colonel  Sullivan,"  the  Bishop  interposed,  stepping 
forward,  "I  hope  you  '11  hear  reason.  Resistance  is  vain. 
Give  up  your  sword  and " 

"And  presto!''  Cammock  cried,  "or  take  the  conse- 
quences!" He  had  edged  his  way,  while  the  Bishop 
spoke,  round  Ulick  and  round  the  head  of  the  table.  Now, 
with  his  foot  on  the  bench,  he  was  ready  at  a  word  to  spring 
on  the  table,  and  take  the  Colonel  in  the  rear.  It  was 
clear  that  he  was  a  man  of  action.  "Down  with  your 
sword,  sir,"  he  cried,  flatly. 

Colonel  John  recognized  the  weakness  of  his  position. 
Before  him  the  young  men  were  five  to  one,  with  old  Sir 
Donny  and  Timothy  Burke  in  the  rear.  On  his  flank  the 
help  which  Ulick  might  give  was  discounted  by  the  move 
Cammock  had  made.  He  saw  that  he  could  do  no  more 
at  present.  Suddenly  as  the  storm  had  blown  up,  he  knew 
that  he  was  dealing  with  desperate  men,  who  from  this 
day  onward  would  act  with  their  necks  in  a  noose,  and 
whom  his  word  might  send  to  the  scaffold.  They  had  but 
to  denounce  him  to  the  rabble  who  waited  outside,  and, 
besides  the  Bishop,  one  only  there,  as  he  believed,  would 
have  the  influence  to  save  him. 

Colonel  John  had  confronted  danger  many  times;  to 
confront  it  had  been  his  trade.  And  it  was  with  coolness 
and  a  clear  perception  of  the  position  that  he  turned  to 
Flavia.  "I  will  give  up  my  sword,"  he  said,  "but  to  my 
cousin  only.  This  is  her  house,  and  I  yield  myself"  — 
with  a  smile  and  a  bow  —  "her  prisoner." 

Before  they  knew  what  he  would  be  at,  he  stepped  for- 


ACOUNCILOFWAR  129 

ward  and  tendered  his  hilt  to  the  girl,  who  took  it  with 
flaccid  fingers.  "I  am  in  your  hands  now,"  he  said,  fix- 
ing his  eyes  on  hers  and  endeavouring  to  convey  his  mean- 
ing to  her.  For  surely,  with  such  a  face,  she  must  have, 
with  all  her  recklessness,  some  womanliness,  some  tender- 
ness of  feeling  in  her. 

"Hang  your  impudence!"  The  McMurrough  cried. 

"A  truce,  a  truce,"  the  Bishop  interposed.  "We  are 
all  agreed  that  Colonel  Sullivan  knows  too  much  to  go 
free.  He  must  be  secured,"  he  continued  smoothly,  "for 
his  own  sake.  Will  two  of  these  gentlemen  see  him  to  his 
room,  and  see  also  that  his  servant  is  placed  under  guard 
in  another  room  ?" 

"But,"  the  Colonel  objected,  looking  at  Flavia,  "my 
cousin  will  surely  allow  me  to  give " 

"She  will  be  guided  by  us  in  this,"  the  Bishop  rejoined 
with  asperity.     "Let  what  I  have  said  be  done." 

Flavia,  very  pale,  holding  the  Colonel's  sword  as  if  it 
might  sting  her,  did  not  speak.  Colonel  Sullivan,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  followed  one  of  the  O'Beirnes  from 
the  room,  the  other  bringing  up  the  rear. 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  them,  Flavia's  was  not 
the  only  pale  face  in  the  room.  The  scene  had  brought 
home  to  more  than  one  the  fact  that  here  was  an  end  of 
peace  and  law,  and  a  beginning  of  violence  and  rebellion. 
The  majority,  secretly  uneasy,  put  on  a  reckless  air  to 
cover  their  apprehensions.  The  Bishop  and  Cammock 
though  they  saw  themselves  in  a  fair  way  to  do  what  they 
had  come  to  do,  looked  thoughtful.     Only  Flavia,  shaking 


130  THEWILDGEESE 

off  the  remembrance  of  Colonel  John's  face  and  Colonel 
John's  existence,  closed  her  grip  upon  his  sword,  and  in  the 
ardour  of  her  patriotism  saw  with  her  mind's  eye  not 
victory  nor  acclaiming  thousands,  but  the  scaffold,  and  a 
death  for  her  country.  Sweet  it  seemed  to  her  to  die  for 
the  cause,  for  the  faith,  to  die  for  Ireland! 

True,  her  country,  her  Ireland,  was  but  this  little  corner 
of  Kerry  beaten  by  the  Atlantic  storms  and  sad  with  the 
wailing  cries  of  seagulls.  But  if  she  knew  no  more  of 
Ireland  than  this,  she  had  read  her  story;  and  naught  is 
more  true  than  that  the  land  the  most  downtrodden  is  also 
the  best  beloved.  Wrongs  beget  a  passion  of  affection; 
and  from  oppression  springs  sacrifice.  This  daughter  of 
the  windswept  shore,  of  the  misty  hills  and  fairy  glens, 
whose  life  from  infancy  had  been  bare  and  rugged  and 
solitary,  had  become,  for  that  reason,  a  dreamer  of  dreams 
and  a  worshipper  of  the  ideal  Ireland,  her  country,  her 
faith.  The  salt  breeze  that  lashed  her  cheeks  and  tore  at 
her  hair,  the  peat  reek  and  the  soft  shadows  of  the  bogland 
—  ay,  and  many  an  hour  of  lonely  communing  —  had 
filled  her  breast  with  such  love  as  impels  rather  to  suffering 
and  to  sacrifice  than  to  enjoyment. 

For  one  moment  she  had  recoiled  before  the  shock  of 
impending  violence.  But  that  had  passed;  now  her  one 
thought,  as  she  stood  with  dilated  eyes,  unconsciously 
clutching  the  Colonel's  sword,  was  that  the  time  was  come^ 
the  thing  was  begun  —  henceforth  she  belonged  not  to 
herself,  but  to  Ireland  and  to  God. 

Deep  in  such  thoughts,  the  girl  was  not  aware  that  the 


A    COUNCIL    OF   WAR  131 

others  had  got  together  and  were  discussing  the  Colonel's 
fate  until  mention  was  made  of  the  French  sloop  and  of 
Captain  Augustin.  "Faith,  and  let  him  go  in  that!" 
she  heard  Uncle  Ulick  urging.  "  D'  ye  hear  me,  your 
reverence  ?  'T  will  be  a  week  before  they  land  him,  and 
the  fire  we  '11  be  lighting  will  be  no  secret  at  all  at  all  by 
then." 

"May  be,  Mr.  Sullivan,"  the  Bishop  replied — "may  be. 
But  we  cannot  spare  the  sloop." 

"No,  we'll  not  spare  her!"  The  McMurrough  chimed 
in.  "She  's  heels  to  her,  and  it 's  a  godsend  she  '11  be  to 
us  if  things  go  ill." 

"An  addition  to  our  fleet,  anyway,"  Cammock  said. 
"We  'd  be  mad  to  let  her  go  —  just  to  make  a  man  safe; 
we  can  make  safe  a  deal  cheaper!" 

Flavia  propped  the  sword  carefully  in  an  angle  of  the 
hearth,  and  moved  forward.  "But  I  do  not  understand," 
she  said  timidly.  "  We  agreed  that  the  sloop  and  the  cargo 
were  to  go  free  if  Colonel  Sullivan  —  but  you  know!" 
she  added,  breaking  off  and  addressing  her  brother. 

"  I  it  dreaming  you  are  ?  "  he  retorted,  contemptuously. 
"Is  it  we  '11  be  taking  note  of  that  now?" 

"It  was  a  debt  of  honour,"  she  said. 

"The  girl 's  right,"  Uncle  Ulick  said,  "and  we  '11  be  rid 
of  him." 

"We  '11  be  rid  of  him  without  that,"  The  McMurrough 
muttered. 

"I  am  fearing,  Mr.  Sullivan,"  the  Bishop  said,  "that  it 
is  not  quite  understood  by  all  that  we  are  embarked  upon 


132  THEWILDGEESE 

a  matter  of  life  and  death.  We  cannot  let  bagatelles  stand 
in  the  way.  The  sloop  and  her  cargo  can  be  made  good 
to  her  owners  —  at  another  time.  For  yoiir  relative  and 
his  servant " 

"The  shortest  way  with  them!"  some  one  cried. 
"That's  the  best  and  the  surest!" 

"For  them,"  the  Bishop  continued,  silencing  the  inter- 
ruption by  a  look,  "we  must  not  forget  that  some  days 
must  pass  before  we  can  hope  to  get  our  people  together. 
During  the  interval  we  lie  at  the  mercy  of  an  informer. 
Your  own  people  you  know,  but  the  same  cannot  be  said 
of  this  gentleman  —  who  has  very  fixed  ideas  —  and  his 
servant.  Our  lives  and  the  lives  of  others  are  in  their 
hands,  and  it  is  of  the  last  importance  that  they  be  kept 
secure  and  silent." 

"Ay,  silent 's  the  word,"  Cammock  growled. 

"There  could  be  no  better  place  than  one  of  the  towers," 
The  McMurrough  suggested,  "for  keeping  them  safe, 
bedad!" 

"And  why  '11  they  be  safer  there  than  in  the  house?" 
Uncle  Ulick  asked  suspiciously.  He  looked  from  one 
speaker  to  another  with  a  baffled  face,  trying  to  read 
their  minds.  He^^was  sure  that  they  meant  more  than 
they  said. 

"Oh,  for  the  good  reason!"  the  young  man  returned 
contemptuously.  "Isn't  all  the  world  passing  the  door 
upstairs?     And  what  more  easy  than  to  open  it?" 

Cammock's  eyes  met  the  Bishop's.  "The  tower '11 
be  best,"  he  said.     "Draw  off  the  people,  and  let  them  be 


ACOUNCILOFWAR  133 

taken  there,  and  a  guard  set.  We  've  matters  of  more 
importance  to  discuss  now.  This  gathering  to-morrow, 
to  raise  the  country  —  what 's  the  time  fixed  for  it?" 

But  Flavia,  who  had  listened  with  a  face  of  perplexity, 
interposed.  "Still,  he  is  my  prisoner,  is  he  not ? "  she  said 
wistfully.     "And  if  I  answer  for  him?" 

"By  your  leave,  ma'am,"  Cammock  replied,  with  deci- 
sion, "one  word.  Women  to  women's  work!  I'll  let 
no  woman  weave  a  halter  for  me!" 

The  room  echoed  low  applause.    And  Flavia  was  silent. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  MESSAGE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  MASTER 

JAMES  McMURROUGH  cared  little  for  his 
country,  and  nothing  for  his  Faith.  He  cared 
only  for  himself;  and  but  for  the  resentment 
which  the  provisions  of  his  grandfather's  will  had  bred 
in  him,  he  would  have  seen  the  Irish  race  in  Purgatory, 
and  the  Roman  faith  in  a  worse  place,  before  he  would 
have  risked  a  finger  to  right  the  one  or  restore  the  other. 

Once  embarked,  however,  on  the  enterprise,  vanity 
swept  him  onward.  The  night  which  followed  Colonel 
Sullivan's  arrest  was  a  night  long  remembered  at  Morris- 
town  —  a  night  to  uplift  the  sanguine  and  to  kindle  the 
short-sighted,  nor  was  it  a  wonder  that  the  young  chief  — 
as  he  strode  among  his  admiring  tenants,  his  presence 
greeted  with  Irish  acclamations,  and  his  skirts  kissed  by 
devoted  kernes  —  sniffed  the  pleasing  incense,  and  trod 
the  ground  to  the  measure  of  imagined  music.  The  tri- 
umph that  was  never  to  be  intoxicated  him. 

His  people  had  kindled  a  huge  bonfire  in  the  middle  of 
the  forecourt,  and  beside  this  he  extended  a  gracious 
welcome  to  a  crowd  of  strong  tenants.  A  second  fire,  for 
the  comfort  of  the  baser  sort,  had  been  kindled  outside  the 
gates,  and  was  the  centre  of  merriment  less  restrained; 

134 


MESSAGE  FOR    THE    MASTER    135 

while  a  third,  which  served  as  a  beacon  to  the  valley,  and 
a  proclamation  of  what  was  being  done,  glowed  on  the 
platform  before  the  ruined  tower  at  the  head  of  the  lake. 
From  this  last  the  red  flames  streamed  far  across  the  water; 
and  now  revealed  a  belated  boat  shooting  from  the  shadow, 
now  a  troop  of  countrymen,  who,  led  by  their  priest,  came 
limping  along  the  lakeside,  ostensibly  to  join  in  the  services 
of  the  morrow,  but  in  reality  to  hear  something  and  to  do 
something  toward  freeing  old  Ireland  and  shaking  off 
the  grip  of  the  cursed  Saxon. 

In  the  more  settled  parts  of  the  land,  such  a  summons 
as  had  brought  them  from  their  rude  shielings  among  the 
hills  would  have  passed  for  a  dark  jest.  But  in  this  remote 
spot  the  notion  of  overthrowing  the  hated  power  by 
means  of  a  few  score  pikes  did  not  seem  preposterous, 
either  to  these  poor  folk  or  to  their  betters.  Cammock, 
of  course,  knew  the  truth,  and  the  Bishop. 

But  the  native  gentry  saw  nothing  hopeless  in  the  plan. 
That  plan  was  first  to  fall  upon  Tralee  in  combination 
with  a  couple  of  sloops  said  to  be  lying  in  Galway  Bay; 
and  afterward  to  surprise  Kenmare.  Masters  of  these 
places,  they  proposed  to  raise  the  old  standard,  to  call 
Connaught  to  their  aid,  to  cry  a  crusade.  And  faith,  as 
Sir  Donny  said,  before  the  Castle  tyrants  could  open  their 
eyes,  or  raise  their  heads  from  the  pillow,  they  'd  be  seeing 
themselves  driven  into  the  salt  ocean! 

So,  while  the  house  walls  gave  back  the  ruddy  glare  of 
the  torches,  and  the  barefooted,  bareheaded,  laughing 
colleens  damped  the  thatch,  and  men  confessed  in  one 


136  THEWILDGEESE 

corner  and  kissed  their  girls  in  another,  and  the  smiths  in 
a  third  wrought  hard  at  the  pike-heads  —  so  the  struggle 
depicted  itself  to  more  than  one! 

And  all  the  time  Cammock  and  the  Bishop  walked  in 
the  dark  in  the  garden,  a  little  apart  from  the  turmoil, 
and,  wrapped  in  their  cloaks,  talked  in  low  voices;  debat- 
ing much  of  Sicily  and  Naples  and  the  Cardinal  and  the 
Mediterranean  fleet,  and  at  times  laughing  at  some  court 
story.  But  they  said,  strange  to  tell,  no  word  of  Tralee, 
or  of  Kenmare,  or  of  Dublin  Castle,  or  even  of  Connaught. 
They  were  no  visionaries.  They  had  to  do  with  greater 
things  than  these,  and  in  doing  them  knew  that  they  must 
spend  to  gain.  The  lives  of  a  few  score  peasants,  the  ruin 
of  half  a  dozen  hamlets,  what  were  these  beside  the  diver- 
sion of  a  single  squadron  from  the  great  pitched  fight, 
already  foreseen,  where  the  excess  of  one  battleship  might 
win  an  empire,  and  its  absence  might  ruin  nations  ? 

And  one  other  man,  and  one  only,  because  his  life  had 
been  passed  on  their  wider  plane,  and  he  could  judge  of  the 
relative  value  of  Connaught  and  Kent,  divined  the  trend 
of  their  thoughts,  and  understood  the  deliberation  with 
which  they  prepared  to  sacrifice  their  pawns. 

Colonel  Sullivan  sat  in  the  upper  room  of  one  of  the  two 
towers  that  flanked  the  entrance  to  the  forecourt.  Bale 
was  with  him,  and  the  two,  with  the  door  doubly  locked 
upon  them  and  guarded  by  a  sentry  whose  crooning  they 
could  hear,  shared  such  comfort  as  a  pitcher  of  water  and 
a  gloomy  outlook  afforded.  The  darkness  hid  the  medley 
of  odds  and  ends  which  littered  their  prison;  but  the  inner 


MESSAGE   FOR   THE    MASTER    137 

of  the  two  slit-like  windows  that  lighted  the  room  admitted 
a  thin  shaft  of  firelight  that,  dancing  among  the  uncovered 
rafters,  told  of  the  orgy  below.  Bale,  staring  morosely  at 
the  crowd  about  the  fire,  crouched  in  the  splay  of  the 
window,  while  the  Colonel,  in  the  same  posture  at  the  other 
window,  gazed  with  feelings  not  more  cheerful  on  the  dark 
lake. 

He  was  concerned  for  himself  and  his  companion. 
But  he  was  more  gravely  concerned  for  those  whose  advo- 
cate he  had  made  himself  —  for  the  ignorant  cotters  in 
their  lowly  hovels,  the  women,  the  children,  upon  whom 
the  inevitable  punishment  would  fall.  He  doubted,  now 
that  it  was  too  late,  the  wisdom  of  the  course  he  had  taken ; 
and,  blaming  himself  for  precipitation,  he  fancied  that  if 
he  had  acted  with  a  little  more  guile,  a  little  less  haste,  his 
remonstrance  might  have  had  greater  weight. 

William  Bale,  as  was  natural,  thought  more  of  his  own 
position.  "May  the  fire  burn  them!"  he  muttered,  his 
ire  excited  by  some  prank  of  the  party  below.  "The 
Turks  were  polite  beside  these  barefoot  devils!" 

"You'd  have  said  the  other  thing  at  Bender,"  the 
Colonel  answered,  turning  his  head. 

"  Ay,  your  honour,"  Bale  returned;  "  a  man  never  knows 
when  he  is  well  off." 

His  master  laughed.  "I  'd  have  you  apply  that  now," 
he  said. 

"So  I  would  if  it  were  n't  that  I  've  a  kind  of  a  scunner 
at  those  black  bog-holes,"  Bale  said.  "To  be  planted 
head  first 's  no  proper  end  of  a  man,  to  my  thinking; 


138  THEWILDGEESE 

and  if  there  's  not  something  of  the  kind  in  these  raga- 
muffins' minds  I  'm  precious  mistaken." 

"Pooh,  man,  you  're  frightening  yourself,"  the  Colonel 
answered.  But  the  room  was  dank  and  chill,  the  lake 
without  lay  lonely,  and  the  picture  which  Bale's  words 
called  up  was  not  pleasant  to  the  bravest.  "  It 's  a  civilized 
land,  and  they  'd  not  think  of  it!" 

"There's  one,  and  that's  the  young  lady's  brother," 
Bale  answered  darkly,  "would  not  pull  us  out  by  the  feet! 
I  '11  swear  to  that.  Your  honour  's  too  much  in  his  way, 
if  what  they  say  in  the  house  is  true." 

"Pooh!"  the  Colonel  answered  again.  "We're  of 
one  blood." 

"Cain  and  Abel,"  Bale  said.  "There's  example  for 
it."     And  he  chuckled. 

The  Colonel  scolded  him  anew.  But  having  done  so 
he  could  not  shake  off  the  impression  which  the  man's 
words  had  made  on  him.  While  he  lived  he  was  a  constant 
and  an  irritating  check  upon  James  McMurrough.  If  the 
young  man  saw  a  chance  of  getting  rid  of  that  check,  was 
he  one  to  put  it  from  him  ?  Colonel  John's  face  grew  long 
as  he  pondered  the  question;  he  had  seen  enough  of  James 
to  feel  considerable  doubt  about  the  answer.  The  fire  on 
the  height  above  the  lake  had  died  down,  the  one  on  the 
strand  was  a  bed  of  red  ashes.  The  lake  lay  buried  in 
darkness,  from  which  at  intervals  the  cry  of  an  owl  as  it 
moused  along  the  shore  rose  mournfully. 

But  Colonel  John  was  not  one  to  give  way  to  fears  that 
might  be  baseless.     "Let  us  sleep,"  he  said,  shrugging  his 


MESSAGE   FOR   THE    MASTER    139 

shoulders.  He  lay  down  where  he  was,  pillowing  his 
head  on  a  fishing-net.  Bale  said  nothing,  but  examined 
the  door  before  he  stretched  himself  across  the  threshold. 

Half  an  hour  after  dawn  they  were  roused.  It  was  a 
heavy  trampling  on  the  stairs  that  awakened  them.  The 
door  was  quickly  unlocked,  it  was  thrown  open,  and  the 
hairy  face  of  O'Sullivan  Og,  who  held  it  wide,  looked  in. 
Behind  him  were  two  of  the  boys  with  pikes  —  frowsy, 
savage,  repellent  figures,  with  drugget  coats  tied  by  the 
sleeves  about  their  necks. 

"You  'II  be  coming  with  us,  Colonel,  no  less,"  Og  said. 

Colonel  John  looked  at  him.  "Whither,  my  man?" 
he  asked  coolly.  He  and  Bale  had  got  to  their  feet  at  the 
first   alarm. 

"Och,  sure,  where  it  will  be  best  for  you,"  Og  replied, 
with  a  leer. 

"Both  of  us?"  the  Colonel  asked,  in  the  same  hard 
tone. 

"Faith,  and  why'd  we  be  separating  you,  I'd  be 
asking." 

Colonel  John  liked  neither  the  man's  tone  nor  his  looks. 
But  he  was  far  above  starting  at  shadows,  and  he  guessed 
that  resistance  would  be  useless.  "Very  good,"  he  said. 
"Lead  on." 

"  Bedad,  and  if  you  'II  be  doing  that  same,  we  will," 
O'Sullivan  Og  answered,  with  a  grin. 

The  Colonel  and  Bale  found  their  hats  —  they  'd  been 
allowed  to  bring  nothing  else  with  them  —  and  they  went 
down  the  stairs.     In  the  gloom  before  the  door  of  the  tower 


140  THEWILDGEESE 

waited  two  sturdy  fellows,  barefoot  and  shock-headed, 
with  musqiietoons  on  their  shoulders,  who  seemed  to  be 
expecting  them.  Round  the  smouldering  embers  of  the 
fire  a  score  of  figures  lay  sleeping  in  the  open,  wrapped  in 
their  frieze  coats.  The  sun  was  not  yet  up,  and  all  things 
were  wrapped  in  a  mist  that  chilled  to  the  bone.  Nothing 
in  all  that  was  visible  took  from  the  ominous  aspect  of  the 
two  men  with  the  firearms.  One  for  each.  Bale  thought. 
And  his  face,  always  pallid,  showed  livid  in  the  morning 
light. 

Without  a  word  the  four  men  formed  up  round  their 
prisoners,  and  at  once  O'Sullivan  Og  led  the  way  at  a 
brisk  pace  toward  the  gate.  Colonel  John  was  following, 
but  he  had  not  taken  three  steps  before  a  thought  struck 
him,  and  he  halted.  "  Are  we  leaving  the  house  at  once  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"We  are.     And  why  not,  I  'm  asking." 

"Only  that  I  've  a  message  for  the  McMurrough  it  will 
be  well  for  him  to  have." 

"Sure,"  O'Sullivan  Og  answered,  his  manner  half 
wheedling,  half  truculent,  "  't  is  no  time  for  messages  and 
trifles  and  the  like  now.  Colonel.  No  time  at  all,  I  tell  you. 
Ye  can  see  that  for  yourself,  I  'm  thinking,  such  a  morning 
as  this." 

"I'm  thinking  nothing  of  the  kind,"  the  Colonel 
answered,  and  he  hung  back,  looking  toward  the  house. 
Fortunately  Darby  chose  that  minute  to  appear  at  the  door. 
The  butler's  face  was  pale,  and  showed  fatigue;  his  hair 
hung  in  wisps;    his  clothes  were  ill-fastened.     He  threw 


MESSAGE   FOR   THE   MASTER    141 

a  glance  of  contempt  at  the  sleeping  figures  lying  here  and 
there  in  the  wet.  Thence  his  eyes  travelled  on  and  took 
in  the  group  by  the  gate.  He  started,  and  wrung  his  hands 
in  sudden,  irrepressible  distress.  It  was  as  if  a  spasm 
seized  the  man. 

The  Colonel  called  him.  "Darby,"  he  cried.  "Come 
here,  my  man." 

O'Sullivan  Og  opened  his  mouth;  he  was  on  the  point 
of  interposing,  but  he  thought  better  of  it,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  muttering  something  in  the  Erse. 

"Darby,"  the  Colonel  said,  gravely,  "I've  a  message 
for  the  young  master,  and  it  must  be  given  him  in  his  bed. 
Will  you  give  it?" 

"I  will,  your  honour." 

"You  will  not  fail?" 

"I  will  not,  your  honour,"  the  old  servant  answered 
earnestly. 

"Tell  him,  then,  that  Colonel  Sullivan  made  his  will  as 
he  passed  through  Paris,  and  't  is  now  in  Dublin.  You 
mind  me.  Darby?" 

The  old  man  began  to  shake  —  he  had  an  Irishman's 
superstition.  "1  do,  your  honour.  But  the  saints  be 
between  us  and  harm,"  he  continued,  with  the  same 
gesture  of  distress.     "Who  's  speaking  of  wills  ?" 

"Only  tell  him  that  in  his  bed,"  Colonel  John  repeated, 
with  an  urgent  look.     "That  is  all." 

"And  by  your  leave,  it  is  now  we'll  be  going,"  Og 
interposed  sharply.  "We  are  late  already  for  what 
we  've  to  do." 


142  THEWILDGEESE 

"There  are  some  things,"  the  Colonel  rephed  with  a 
steady  look,  "which  it  is  well  to  be  late  about." 

Then,  without  further  remonstrance,  he  and  Bale,  with 
their  guard,  marched  out  through  the  gate,  and  took  the 
road  along  the  lake  —  that  same  road  by  which  the  Colonel 
had  come  some  days  before  from  the  French  sloop.  The 
men  with  the  firelocks  walked  beside  them,  one  on  either 
flank,  while  the  pikeman  guarded  them  behind,  and 
O'Sullivan  Og  brought  up  the  rear. 

They  had  not  taken  twenty  paces  before  the  fog  swal- 
lowed up  the  party;  and  henceforth  they  walked  in  a  sea 
of  mist,  like  men  moving  in  a  nightmare  from  which  they 
cannot  awake.  The  clammy  vapour  chilled  them  to  the 
bone;  while  the  unceasing  wailing  of  seagulls,  borne  off 
the  lough,  the  whistle  of  an  unseen  curlew  on  the  hillside, 
the  hurtle  of  wings  as  some  ghostly  bird  swept  over  them 
—  these  were  sounds  to  depress  men  who  had  reason  to 
suspect  that  they  were  being  led  to  a  treacherous  end. 

The  Colonel,  though  he  masked  his  apprehensions  under 
an  impenetrable  firmness,  began  to  fear  no  less  than  that  — 
and  with  cause.  He  observed  that  O'Sullivan  Og's 
followers  were  of  the  lowest  type  of  kerne,  islanders  in  all 
probability,  and  half  starved;  men  whose  hands  were 
never  far  from  their  skenes,  and  whose  one  orderly  instinct 
consisted  in  a  blind  obedience  to  their  chief.  O'Sullivan 
Og  himself  he  believed  to  be  The  McMurrough's  agent  in 
his  more  lawless  business;  a  fierce,  unscrupulous  man, 
prospering  on  his  lack  of  scruple.  The  Colonel  could 
augur  nothing  but  ill  from  the  hands  to  which  he  had  been 


MESSAGE   FOR   THE   MASTER    143 

entrusted;  and  worse  from  the  manner  in  which  these 
savage,  half-naked  creatures,  shambHng  beside  him,  stole 
from  time  to  time  a  glance  at  him,  as  if  they  fancied  they 
saw  the  winding-sheet  high  on  his  breast. 

Some,  so  placed,  and  feeling  themselves  helpless,  isolated 
by  the  fog,  and  entirely  at  these  men's  mercy,  might  have 
lost  their  firmness.  But  he  did  not;  nor  did  Bale,  though 
the  servant's  face  betrayed  the  keenness  of  his  anxiety. 
They  weighed  indeed  the  chances  of  escape:  such  chances 
as  a  headlong  rush  into  the  fog  might  afford  to  unarmed 
men,  uncertain  where  they  were.  But  the  Colonel  reflected 
that  it  was  possible  that  that  was  the  very  course 
upon  which  O'Sullivan  Og  counted  for  a  pretext.  And, 
for  a  second  objection,  the  two  could  not,  so  closely  were 
they  guarded,  communicate  with  each  other. 

After  all,  The  McMurrough's  plan  might  amount  to  no 
more  than  their  detention  in  some  secret  place  among  the 
hills.     Colonel  John  hoped  so. 

He  could  not  but  think  ill  of  things;  of  O'Sullivan  Og's 
silence,  of  the  men's  stealthy  glances,  of  the  uncanny  hour. 
And  when  they  came  presently  to  a  point  where  a  faintly 
marked  track  left  the  road,  and  the  party,  at  a  word  from 
their  leader,  turned  into  it,  he  thought  worse  of  the  matter. 
Was  it  his  fancy  —  he  was  far  from  nervous  —  or  were  the 
men  beginning  to  look  impatiently  at  one  another  ?  Was 
it  his  fancy,  or  were  they  beginning  to  press  more  closely 
on  their  prisoners,  as  if  they  sought  a  quarrel?  He 
imagined  that  he  read  in  one  man's  eyes  the  question 
"  When  ?  "  and  in  another's  the  question  "  Now  ?  "     And  a 


144  THEWILDGEESE 

third,  he  thought,  handled  his  weapon  in  an  ominous 
fashion. 

Colonel  John  was  a  brave  man,  inured  to  danger,  one 
who  had  faced  death  in  many  forms.  But  the  lack  of 
arms  shakes  the  bravest,  and  it  needed  even  his  nerve  to 
confront  without  a  quiver  the  fate  that,  if  his  fears  were 
justified,  lay  before  them:  the  sudden,  violent  death,  and 
the  black  bog-water  which  would  swallow  all  traces  of  the 
crime.  But  he  did  not  lose  his  firmness  or  lower  his  crest 
for  a  moment. 

By  and  by  the  track,  which  for  a  time  had  ascended, 
began  to  run  downward.  The  path  grew  less  sound. 
The  mist,  which  was  thicker  than  before,  and  shut  them 
in  on  the  spot  where  they  walked,  as  in  a  world  desolate  and 
apart,  allowed  nothing  to  be  seen  in  front;  but  now  and 
again  a  ragged  thorn  tree  or  a  furze  bush,  dripping  with 
moisture,  showed  ghostlike  to  right  or  left.  There  was 
nothing  to  indicate  the  point  they  were  approaching,  or 
how  far  they  were  likely  to  travel;  until  the  Colonel, 
peering  keenly  before  them,  caught  the  gleam  of  water. 
It  was  gone  as  soon  as  seen,  the  mist  falling  again  like  a 
curtain ;  but  he  had  seen  it,  and  he  looked  back  to  see  what 
Og  was  doing.  He  caught  him  also  in  the  act  of  looking 
over  his  shoulder.  Was  he  making  sure  that  they  were 
beyond  the  chance  of  interruption  ? 

It  might  be  so;  and  Colonel  John  wheeled  about  quickly, 
thinking  that  while  O'Sullivan  Og's  attention  was  directed 
elsewhere,  he  might  take  one  of  the  other  men  by  surprise, 
seize  his  weapon  and  make  a  fight  for  his  life  and  his 


MESSAGE   FOR   THE   MASTER    145 

servant's  life.  But  he  met  only  sinister  looks,  eyes  that 
watched  his  smallest  movement  with  suspicion,  a  point 
ready  levelled  to  strike  him  if  he  budged.  And  then,  out 
of  the  mist  before  them,  loomed  the  gaunt  figure  of  a  man 
walking  apace  toward  them. 

The  meeting  appeared  to  be  as  little  expected  by  the 
stranger  as  by  Og's  party.  For  not  only  did  he  ^ring 
aside  and  leave  the  track  to  give  them  a  wider  berth,  but 
he  went  by  warily,  with  his  feet  in  the  bog.  Some  word 
was  cried  to  him  in  the  Erse;  he  answered,  for  a  moment  he 
appeared  to  be  going  to  stop.  Then  he  passed  on  and 
was  lost  in  the  mist. 

But  he  left  a  change  behind  him.  One  of  the  fire-lock 
men  broke  into  hasty  speech,  glancing,  the  Colonel  noticed, 
at  him  and  Bale,  as  if  they  were  the  subjects  of  his  words. 
O'Sullivan  Og  answered  the  man  curtly  and  harshly;  but 
before  the  reply  was  off  his  lips  a  second  man  broke  in 
vehemently  in  support  of  the  other.  They  all  halted;  for 
a  few  seconds  all  spoke  at  once.  Then,  just  as  Colonel 
John  was  beginning  to  hope  that  they  would  quarrel, 
O'Sullivan  Og  gave  way  with  sullen  reluctance,  and  a 
man  ran  back  the  way  they  had  come,  shouting  a  name. 
Before  the  prisoners  could  decide  whether  his  absence 
afforded  a  chance  of  escape,  he  was  back  again,  and  with 
him  the  man  who  had  passed  in  the  bog. 

Colonel  John  looked  at  the  stranger, and  recognized  him; 
and,  a  man  of  quick  wit,  he  knew  on  the  instant  that  he 
had  to  face  the  worst.  His  face  set  more  hard,  more  firm 
—  if   it   turned  also  a  shade  paler.     He  addressed  his 


146  THEWILDGEESE 

companion.  "They've  called  him  back  to  confess  us," 
he  muttered  in  Bale's  ear. 

"The  devils! "  Bale  exclaimed.  He  choked  on  the  word 
and  worked  his  jaw,  glaring  at  them;  but  he  said  no  more. 
Only  his  eyes  glanced  from  one  to  another,  wild  and  full 
of  rage. 

Colonel  John  did  not  reply,  for  already  O'SuUivan  Og 
was  addressing  him.  "There  's  no  more  to  it,"  The 
McMurrough's  agent  said,  bluntly,  "but  you've  come 
your  last  journey.  Colonel,  and  we  '11  go  back  wanting  you. 
There  's  no  room  in  Ireland  from  this  day  for  them  that 's 
not  Irish  at  heart!  Nor  safety  for  honest  men  while  you  're 
walking  the  sod.     But " 

"Will  you  murder  us?"  Colonel  John  said.  "Do  you 
know,  man,"  he  continued,  sternly,  "what  you  do  ?  What 
have  we  done  to  you,  or  your  master?" 

"Done  ?"  O'SuUivan  Og  answered  with  sudden  ferocity. 
"And  murder,  say  you  ?  Ay,  faith,  I  would,  and  ten  thou- 
sand like  you,  for  the  sake  of  old  Ireland !  You  may  make 
your  peace,  and  have  five  minutes  to  that  —  and  no  more, 
for  time  presses,  and  we  've  work  to  do.  These  fools 
would  have  a  priest  for  you"  —  he  turned  and  spat  on  the 
ground  —  "but  it  is  I,  and  none  better,  know  you  are 
Protestants,  and  't  would  take  more  than  that  to  make 
your  souls!" 

Colonel  John  looked  at  him  with  a  strange  light  in  his 
eyes.  "It  is  little  to  you,"  he  said,  "and  much  to  me. 
Yet  think,  think,  man,  what  you  do.  Or  if  you  will  not, 
here  is  my  servant.     Spare  his  life  at  least.     Put  him,  if 


MESSAGE   FOR   THE    MASTER    147 

you  please,  on  board  the  French  sloop  that 's  in  the 
bay—" 

"Faith,  and  you  're  wasting  the  little  breath  that  is  left 
you,"  the  ruffian  answered,  irritated  rather  than  moved  by 
the  other's  calmness.  "It 's  to  take  or  leave.  I  told  the 
men  a  heretic  had  no  soul  to  make,  but " 

"  God  forgive  you ! "  Colonel  John  said,  and  was  silent; 
for  he  saw  that  remonstrance  would  not  help  him,  nor 
prayer  avail.  The  man's  mind  was  made  up,  his  heart 
steeled.  For  a  brief  instant,  something,  perhaps  that 
human  fear  which  he  had  so  often  defied,  clutched  Colonel 
John's  heart.  For  a  brief  instant  human  weakness  had 
its  way  with  him,  and  he  shuddered  —  in  the  face  of  the 
bog,  in  the  face  of  such  an  end  as  this.  Then  the  gracious 
faith  that  was  his  returned  to  him:  he  was  his  grave, 
unyielding  self  again.  He  took  Bale's  hand  and  begged 
his  forgiveness.  "Would  I  had  never  brought  you!" 
he  said.  "Why  did  I,  why  did  I?  Yet,  God's  will  be 
done!" 

Bale  did  not  seem  able  to  speak.  His  jaw  continued 
to  work,  while  his  eyes  looked  sideways  at  Og.  Had 
the  Irishman  known  his  man,  he  would  have  put  himself 
out  of  reach,  armed  as  he  was. 

"But  I  will  appeal  for  you  to  the  priest!"  Colonel  John 
continued;  "he  may  yet  prevail  with  them  to  spare  you." 

"He  will  not!"  O'SuUivan  Og  said,  naively. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  SEA  MIST 

FATHER  O'HARA  looked  at  the  ,two  prisoners, 
and  the  tears  ran  down  his  face.  He  was  the 
man  whom  Colonel  Sullivan  and  Bale  had  over- 
taken on  their  way  to  Tralee.  He  was  a  merciful  man 
and  with  all  his  heart  he  wished  that,  if  he  could  do  no 
good,  God  had  been  pleased  to  send  him  another  way 
through  the  mist. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?"  he  cried.     "  Oh,  what  can  I  do  ?" 

"You  can  do  nothing,  father,"  O'Sullivan  Og  said 
grimly.  "They 're  heretics,  no  less!  And  we 're  wasting 
your  time,  blessed  man."  He  whispered  a  few  words  in 
the  priest's  ear. 

The  latter  shuddered.  "  God  forgive  us  all ! "  he  wailed. 
"And  most,  those  who  need  it  most!  God  keep  us  from 
high  place!" 

"Sure  and  we  're  in  little  peril!"  O'Sullivan  Og  replied. 

Colonel  John  looked  at  the  priest  with  solemn  eyes. 
Nor  did  aught  but  a  tiny  pulse  beating  in  his  cheek  betray 
that  he  was  listening,  watching,  ready  to  seize  the  least 
chance,  that  he  might  save,  at  any  rate,  poor  Bale.  Then 
"You  are  a  Christian,  father,"  he  said  gravely.  "I  ask 
nothing  for  myself.  But  this  is  my  servant.  He  knows 
nothing.     Prevail  with  them  to  spare  him!" 

148 


THE   SEA   MIST  149 

Bale  uttered  a  fierce  remonstrance.  No  one  under- 
stood it,  or  what  he  said,  or  meant.  His  eyes  looked 
askance,  like  the  eyes  of  a  beast  in  a  snare  —  seeking  a 
weapon,  or  a  throat!     To  be  butchered  thus! 

Perhaps  Colonel  John,  notwithstanding  his  calm  cour- 
age, had  the  same  thought,  and  found  it  bitter.  Death 
had  been  good  in  the  face  of  silent  thousands,  with  pride 
and  high  resolve  for  cheer.  But  here  in  the  mist, 
unknown,  unnoticed,  to  perish  and  be  forgotten  in  a 
week,  even  by  the  savage  hands  that  took  their  breath! 
Perhaps  to  face  this  he,  too,  had  need  of  all  his  Christian 
stoicism. 

"My  God!  My  God!"  the  priest  said.  "Have  pity 
on  these  two,  and  soften  the  hearts  of  their  murderers!" 

"Amen,"  said  Colonel  John,  quietly. 

"Faith,  and  't  is  idle,  this,"  O'Sullivan  Og  cried,  irrita- 
bly. He  gave  a  secret  sign  to  his  men  to  draw  to  one  side 
and  be  ready.  "We  've  our  orders,  and  other  work  to  do. 
Kneel  aside,  father,  't  is  no  harm  we  mean  you.  But 
you  're  wasting  breath  on  these  same.  And  you,"  he 
continued,  addressing  the  two,  "say  what  prayer  you  will, 
if  you  know  one,  and  then  kneel  or  stand  —  it 's  all  one  to 
us  —  and,  God  willing,  you  '11  be  in  purgatory  and  never 
a  knowledge  of  it!" 

"One  moment,"  Colonel  John  interposed,  his  face  pale 
but  composed,  "I  have  something  to  say  to  my  friend." 

"And  you  may,  if  you  '11  play  no  tricks." 

"If  you  would  spare  him " 

"'T  is  idle,  I  say!     Sorra  a  bit  of  good  is  it!     But  there, 


150  THEWILDGEESE 

ye  shall  be  having  while  the  blessed  man  says  three  Pater- 
nosters, and  not  the  least  taste  of  time  beyond!" 

Colonel  John  made  a  sign  to  the  priest,  who,  bowing 
himself  on  the  wet  sod,  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and 
began  to  pray.  The  men,  at  a  sign  from  O'SuUivan,  had 
drawn  to  either  side,  and  the  fire-lockmen  were  handling 
their  pieces,  with  one  eye  on  their  leader  and  one  on  the 
prisoners. 

Colonel  John  took  Bale's  hand.  "What  matter,  soon 
or  late?"  he  said,  gently.  "Here  or  on  our  beds  we  die 
in  our  duty.     Let  us  say,  hi  manus  tuas " 

"Popish!  Popish!"  Bale  muttered,  shaking  his  head. 
He  spoke  hoarsely,  his  tongue  cleaving  to  his  mouth.  His 
eyes  were  full  of  rage. 

"Into  Thy  Hands!"  Colonel  John  said.  He  stooped 
nearer  to  his  man's  ear.  "When  I  shout,  jump  and  run ! " 
he  breathed.  "I  will  hold  two."  Again  he  lifted  his 
head  and  looked  calmly  at  the  threatening  figures  standing 
about  them,  gaunt  and  dark,  against  the  curtain  of  mist. 
They  were  waiting  for  the  signal.  The  priest  was  half  way 
through  his  second  Paternoster.  His  trembling  tongue 
was  stumbling,  lagging  more  and  more.  As  he  ended  it  — 
the  two  men  still  standing  hand  in  hand  —  Colonel  John 
gripped  Bale's  fingers  hard,  but  held  him. 

"What  is  that?"  he  cried,  in  a  loud  voice  —  but  still 
he  held  Bale  tight  that  he  might  not  move.  "What  is 
that  ?  "  he  repeated.  On  the  ear  —  on  his  ear  first  —  had 
fallen  the  sound  of  hurrying  feet. 

They  strained  their  eyes  through  the  mist. 


THESEAMIST  151 

''And  what  '11  this  be  ?"  O'Sullivan  Og  muttered  suspi- 
ciously. "If  you  budge  a  step,"  he  growled,  "I  'II  drive 
this  pike " 

"A  messenger  from  The  McMurrough,"  Colonel  John 
said.  If  he  was  human,  if  his  heart,  at  the  hope  of  respite, 
beat  upon  his  ribs  as  the  heart  of  a  worse  man  might 
have  beaten,  he  did  not  betray  it  save  by  a  light  in 
his  eyes. 

They  had  not  to  wait.  A  tall,  lathy  form  emerged  from 
the  mist.  It  advanced  with  long  leaps,  the  way  they  had 
come.  A  moment,  and  the  messenger  saw  them,  pulled 
up,  and  walked  the  intervening  distance,  his  arms  droop- 
ing, and  his  breath  coming  in  gasps.  He  had  run  apace, 
and  he  could  not  speak.  But  he  nodded  —  as  he  wiped  the 
saliva  from  his  parted  lips  —  to  O'Sullivan  Og  to  come 
aside  with  him;  and  the  two  moved  off  a  space.  The 
others  eyed  them  while  the  message  was  given.  The 
suspense  was  short.     Quickly  O'Sullivan  Og  came  back. 

"Ye  may  be  thankful,"  he  said,  drily.  "Ye 've 
cheated  the  pikes  for  this  time,  no  less,  and  't  is  safe 
ye  are." 

"  You  have  the  greater  reason  to  be  thankful,"  Colonel 
John  replied  solemnly.     "You  have  been  spared  a  foul 


crime." 


"Faith  and  I  hope  I  may  never  do  worse,"  Og  answered, 
hardily,  "than  rid  the  world  of  two  black  Protestants, 
an'  them  with  a  priest  to  make  their  souls!  Many  's  the 
honest  man  's  closed  his  eyes  without  that  same.  But 
't  is  no  time  for  prating!     I  wonder  at  your  honour,  and 


152  THE  WILD   GEESE 

you  no  more  than  out  of  the  black  water!  Bring  them 
along,  boys,"  he  continued,  "we  've  work  to  do  yet!" 

" Laus  Deo!"  the  priest  cried,  lifting  up  his  hands. 
"Give  Him  the  glory!" 

"Amen,"  the  Colonel  said  softly.  And  for  a  moment 
he  shut  his  eyes  and  stood  with  clasped  hands.  "  I  thank 
you  kindly,  father,  for  your  prayers!"  he  said.  "The 
words  of  a  good  man  avail  much!" 

No  more  was  said.  For  a  few  yards  Bale  walked 
unsteadily.  But  he  recovered  himself  and,  urged  by 
O'SuUivan's  continual  injunctions  to  hasten,  the  party 
were  not  long  in  retracing  their  steps.  They  reached  the 
road,  and  went  along  it,  but  in  the  direction  of  the  landing- 
place.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  threading  their  way 
in  single  file  across  the  saucer-like  waste  which  lay  to  land- 
ward of  the  hill  overlooking  the  jetty. 

"Are  you  taking  us  to  the  French  sloop  ?"  Colonel  John 
asked. 

"You  '11  be  as  wise  as  the  lave  of  us  by  and  by!"  Og 
answered  sulkily. 

They  crossed  the  shoulder  near  the  tower,  and  strode 
down  the  slope  to  the  stone  pier.  The  mist  lay  low  on  the 
water.  The  tide  was  almost  at  the  flood.  Og  bade  the 
men  draw  in  one  of  the  boats,  ordered  Colonel  Sullivan 
and  Bale  to  go  into  the  bow,  and  the  pikemen  to  take  the 
oars.  He  and  the  two  fire-lock  men  took  their  seats  in  the 
stern. 

"Pull  out,  you  cripples,"  he  said,  "and  there  '11  be  flood 
enough  to  be  bringing  us  back." 


THESEAMIST  153 

The  men  bent  to  the  clumsy  oars,  and  the  boat  slid  down 
the  inlet,  and  passed  under  the  beam  of  the  French  sloop, 
which  lay  moored  farther  along  the  jetty.  Not  a  sign  of 
life  appeared  on  deck  as  they  passed;  the  ship  seemed  to 
be  deserted.  Half  a  dozen  strokes  carried  the  boat  beyond 
view  of  it,  and  the  little  party  were  alone  on  the  bosom 
of  the  water,  that  lay  rocking  smoothly  between  its  unseen 
banks.  Some  minutes  were  spent  in  stout  rowing,  and 
soon  the  boat  began  to  rise  and  fall  on  the  Atlantic  rollers. 

"  'T  is  more  deceitful  than  a  pretty  colleen,"  O'Sullivan 
Og  said,  "is  the  sea-fog,  bad  cess  to  it!  My  own  father 
was  lost  in  it.     Will  you  be  seeing  her,  boys  ?" 

"Ye  '11  not  see  her  till  ye  touch  her!"  one  of  the  rowers 
answered. 

"And  the  tide  running?"  the  other  said.  "Save  us 
from  that  same!" 

"She's  farther  out  by  three  gunshots!"  struck  in  a 
fire-lock  man.  "We'll  be  drifting  back, ye  thieves  of  the 
world,  if  ye  sit  staring  there!  Pull,  an'  we  '11  be  inshore 
an'  ye  know  it." 

For  some  minutes  the  men  pulled  steadily  onward,  while 
one  of  the  passengers,  apprized  that  their  destination  was 
the  Spanish  war-vessel,  felt  anything  but  eager  to  reach  it. 
A  Spanish  warship  meant  imprisonment,  possibly  the 
Inquisition,  persecution,  and  death.  When  the  men  lay 
at  last  on  their  oars,  and  swore  that  they  must  have  passed 
the  ship,  he  alone  listened  indifferently. 

"'Tis  a  black  Protestant  fog!"  O'Sullivan  cried. 
"Where  '11  we  be,  I  wonder?" 


154  THEWILDGEESE 

"Sure,  ye  can  make  no  mistake,"  one  answered.  "The 
wind  's  light  off  the  land." 

"We  '11  be  pulling  back,  lads." 

"That  's  the  word." 

The  men  put  the  boat  about,  and  started  on  the  return 
journey.  Suddenly  Colonel  John,  crouching  in  the  bow, 
vv^here  was  scant  room  for  Bale  and  himself,  saw  a  large 
shape  loom  before  him.  Involuntarily  he  uttered  a  warn- 
ing cry,  O 'Sullivan  echoed  it,  the  men  tried  to  hold  the 
boat.  In  doing  this,  however,  one  man  was  quicker  than 
the  other,  the  boat  turned  broadside  on  to  her  former 
course,  and  before  the  cry  was  well  off  O'Sullivan  Og's 
lips,  it  swept  violently  athwart  a  cable  hauled  taut  by  the 
weight  of  a  vessel  straining  to  the  flow  of  the  tide.  In  a 
twinkhng  the  boat  careened,  throwing  its  occupants  into 
the  water. 

Colonel  John  and  Bale  were  nearest  to  the  hawser,  and 
managed  to  seize  it  and  cling  to  it.  But  the  first  wave 
washed  over  them,  blinding  them  and  choking  them;  and, 
warned  by  this,  they  worked  themselves  along  the  rope 
until  they  could  twist  a  leg  over  their  slender  support. 

That  effected,  they  shouted  for  help.  But  their  shouts 
were  merged  in  the  wail  of  despair,  of  shrieks  and  cries, 
that  floated  away  into  the  mist.  The  boat,  travelling  with 
the  last  of  the  tide,  had  struck  the  cable  with  force,  and 
was  already  drifting  a  gunshot  away.  Whether  any 
saved  themselves  on  it,  the  two  clinging  to  the  hawser 
could  not  see. 

Bale,  shivering  and  scared,  would  have  shouted  again, 


THESEAMIST  155 

but  Colonel  John  stayed  him.  "God  rest  their  souls!" 
he  said  solemnly.  "The  men  aboard  can  do  nothing. 
By  the  time  they  '11  have  lowered  a  boat  it  will  be  done 
with  these." 

"They  can  take  us  aboard,"  Bale  said. 

"Ay,  if  we  want  to  go  to  Cadiz  gaol,"  Colonel  John 
answered  slowly.  He  was  peering  keenly  toward  the 
land. 

"But  what  can  we  do,  your  honour?"  Bale  asked  with 
a  shiver. 

"Swim  ashore." 

"God  forbid!" 

"But  you  can  swim?" 

"Not  that  far.  Not  near  that  far,  God  knows!"  Bale 
repeated  with  emphasis,  his  teeth  chattering.  "I'll  go 
down  like  a  stone." 

"Cadiz  gaol!  Cadiz  gaol!"  Colonel  John  muttered. 
"Is  n't  it  worth  a  swim  to  escape  that?" 

"Ay,  ay,  but " 

"Do  you  see  that  oar  drifting?  In  a  twinkling  it  will 
be  out  of  reach.  Off  with  your  boots,  man,  off  with  your 
clothes,  and  to  it!  That  oar  is  freedom!  The  tide  is 
with  us  still,  or  it  would  not  be  moving  that  way.  But  let 
the  tide  turn  and  we  cannot  do  it." 

"It's  too  far!" 

"If  you  could  see  the  shore,"  Colonel  John  argued, 
"you  'd  think  nothing  of  it!  With  your  chin  on  that 
oar,  you  can't  sink.  But  it  must  be  done  before  we  are 
chilled." 


156  THEWILDGEESE 

He  was  stripping  himself  to  his  underclothes  while  he 
talked :  and  in  haste,  fearing  that  he  might  feel  the  hawser 
slacken  and  dip  —  a  sign  that  the  tide  had  turned. 
Already  Colonel  John  had  plans  and  hopes,  but  freedom 
was  needful  if  they  were  to  come  to  anything. 

"Come!"  he  cried,  impulsively.  "Man,  you  are  not  a 
coward.     Come!" 

He  let  himself  into  the  water  and  after  a  moment  of 
hesitation  Bale  followed  his  example,  let  the  rope  go, 
and  with  quick,  nervous  strokes  bobbed  after  him  in  the 
direction  of  the  oar.  Colonel  John  deserved  the  less  credit, 
as  he  was  the  better  swimmer.  He  swam  long  and  slow 
with  his  head  low,  and  his  eyes  watched  his  follov/er,  A 
half  minute  of  violent  exertion,  and  Bale  's  outstretched 
hand  clutched  the  oar.  It  was  a  thick,  clumsy  imple- 
ment, and  it  floated  high.  Colonel  John  bade  him  rest 
his  hands  on  it,  and  thrust  it  before  him  lengthwise,  swim- 
ming with  his  feet. 

For  five  minutes  nothing  was  said,  but  they  proceeded 
slowly  and  patiently,  trusting  —  for  they  could  see  nothing 
—  that  the  tide  was  still  seconding  their  efforts.  Colonel 
John  knew  that  if  the  shore  lay,  as  he  judged,  about 
half  a  mile  distant,  he  must,  to  reach  it,  swim  slowly 
and  reserve  his  strength.  Though  a  natural  desire  to 
decide  the  question  quickly  would  have  impelled  him 
to  great  exertion,  he  resisted  it.  At  the  worst,  he 
reflected  that  the  oar  would  support  them  both  for  a 
short  time. 

They  had  been  swimming  for  ten  minutes,  as  he  cal- 


THE   SEA   MIST  157 

culated,  when  Bale,  who  floated  higher,  cried  joyfully  that 
he  could  see  the  land.  Colonel  John  made  no  answer,  he 
needed  all  his  breath.  But  a  minute  later  he  too  saw  it 
loom  low  through  the  fog;  and  then,  in  some  minutes 
afterward,  they  felt  bottom  and  waded  on  to  a  ledge  of 
rocks  which  projected  a  hundred  yards  from  the  mainland 
eastward  of  the  mouth  of  the  inlet.  The  tide  had  served 
them  well  by  carrying  them  a  little  to  the  eastward.  They 
sat  a  moment  on  the  rocks  to  recover  their  strength;  and 
then,  stung  to  action  by  the  chill  wind,  which  set  their 
teeth  chattering,  they  got  to  their  feet  and  scrambled 
painfully  along  the  rocks  until  they  reached  the  marshy 
bank  of  the  inlet.  A  pilgrimage  scarcely  less  painful, 
through  gorse  and  rushes,  brought  them  at  the  end  of  ten 
minutes  to  the  jetty. 

Here  all  was  quiet.  If  any  of  O'SuUivan  Og's  party 
had  saved  themselves  they  were  not  to  be  seen,  nor  was 
there  any  indication  that  the  accident  was  known  on 
shore. 

While  Colonel  John  had  been  picking  his  way,  his 
thoughts  had  not  been  idle;  and  now,  without  hesitation, 
he  made  along  the  jetty  until  the  masts  of  the  French  sloop 
loomed  beside  it.  He  boarded  the  vessel  by  a  plank  and 
looked  round  him.  There  was  no  watch  on  deck,  but 
a  melancholy  voice  piping  a  French  song  rose  from  the 
depths  of  the  cabin.  Colonel  John  bade  Bale  follow  him 
—  they  were  shivering  from  head  to  foot  —  and  descended 
the  companion. 

The  singer  was  Captain  Augustin.     He  lay  on  his  back 


158  THEWILDGEESE 

in  his  bunk,  while  his  mate,  between  sleep  and  waking, 
formed  an  unwilling  audience. 

"  Tout  mal  chausse,  tout  mal  vetu," 
sang  the  Captain  in  a  doleful  voice, 

*'  Pauvre  marin,  d'oureviens-tu  ? 
Tout  doux!     Tout  doux." 

With  the  last  word  on  his  lips,  he  called  on  the  name 
of  his  Maker,  for  he  saw  two  half-naked,  dripping  figures 
peering  at  him  through  the  open  door.  For  the  moment 
he  took  them,  by  the  dim  light  for  the  revenants  of 
drowned  men;  while  his  mate,  a  Breton,  rose  on  his  elbow 
and  shrieked  aloud. 

It  was  only  when  Colonel  John  called  them  by  name 
that  they  were  reassured,  lost  their  fears,  and  recognized 
in  the  pallid  figures  before  them  their  late  passenger  and 
his  attendant.  Then  the  cabin  rang  with  oaths  and 
invocations,  with  mon  Dieu!  and  ma  foi!  Immediately 
clothes  were  fetched,  and  rough  cloths  to  dry  the  visitors 
and  restore  warmth  to  their  limbs,  and  cognac  and  food  — 
for  the  two  were  half  starved.  While  these  comforts  were 
being  administered,  and  half  the  crew,  crouching  about  the 
companion,  listened,  Colonel  John  told  very  shortly  the 
tale  of  their  adventures,  of  the  fate  that  had  menaced  them, 
and  their  narrow  escape.  In  return  he  learned  that  the 
Frenchmen  were  virtually  prisoners. 

"They  have  taken  our  equipage,  cursed  dogs! "  Augustin 
explained,  refraining  with  difficulty  from  a  dance  of  rage. 
The  rudder,  the  sails,  they  are  not,  see  you  ?  They  have 
locked  all  in  the  house  on  shore,  that  we  may  not  go  by 


THE  SEA  MIST  159 

night,  you  understand.  And  by  day  the  ship  of  war 
beyond,  Spanish  it  is  possible,  pirate  for  certain,  goes  about 
to  sink  us  if  we  move!  Ah,  sacre  nom,  that  I  had  never 
seen  this  land  of  swine!" 

"Have  they  a  guard  over  the  rudder  and  the  sails?" 
Colonel  John  asked. 

"I  know  not.     What  matter?" 

"  If  not,  it  were  not  hard  to  regain  them,"  Colonel  John 
said,  with  an  odd  light  in  his  eyes. 

"And  the  ship  of  war  beyond?  What  would  she  be 
doing?" 

"  While  the  fog  lies  ?  "  Colonel  John  replied. 
"Nothing." 

"The  fog  ?"  Augustin  exclaimed.  He  clapped  his  hand 
to  his  head,  ran  up  the  companion  and  as  quickly  returned. 
"There  is  a  fog,"  he  cried,  "like  the  inside  of  Jonah's 
whale!  For  the  ship  beyond  I  snap  the  finger  at  her! 
She  is  not!  Then  forward,  mes  braves!  Yet  tranquil! 
They  have  taken  the  arms!" 

"Ay?"  Colonel  John  said,  still  eating.  "Is  that  so? 
Then  it  seems  to  me  we  must  retake  them.     That  first." 

"What,  you?"  Augustin  exclaimed. 

"Why  not?"  Colonel  John  responded,  looking  round 
him,  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "The  goods  of  his  host  are  in 
a  manner  of  speaking  the  house  of  his  host.  And  it  is  the 
duty  —  as  I  said  once  before." 

"  But  is  it  not  that  they  are  —  of  your  kin  ?" 

"That  is  the  reason,"  Colonel  John  answered  cryptically 
and  to  the  skipper's  surprise.     But  that  surprise  lasted  a 


160  THEWILDGEESE 

very  short  time.  "Listen  to  me,"  the  Colonel  continued. 
"This  goes  farther  than  you  think,  and  to  cure  it  we  must 
not  stop  short.  Let  me  speak,  and  do  you,  my  friends, 
listen.  Courage,  and  I  will  give  you  not  only  freedom 
but  a  good  bargain." 

The  skipper  stared.     "How  so?"  he  asked. 

Then  Colonel  John  unfolded  the  plan  on  which  he  had 
been  meditating  while  the  gorse  bushes  pricked  his  feet 
and  the  stones  gibed  them.  It  was  a  great  plan,  and  before 
all  things  a  bold  one;  so  bold  that  the  seamen,  who  crowded 
the  foot  of  the  companion,  opened  their  eyes. 

Augustin  smacked  his  lips.  "It  is  what  you  call  mag- 
nifiqiie!"  he  said.  "But,"  he  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
"it  is  not  possible!" 

"If  the  fog  holds?" 

"  But  if  it  —  what  you  call  —  lifts  ?    What  then,  eh  ?  " 

"Through  how  many  storms  have  you  ridden?"  the 
Colonel  answered.     "Yet  if  the  mast  had  gone?" 

' '  We  had  gone  1     V raiment! ' ' 

"That  did  not  keep  you  ashore." 

Augustin  cogitated  over  this  for  a  while.  Then,  "But 
we  are  eight  only,"  he  objected.     "Myself,  nine." 

"And  two  are  eleven,"  Colonel  John  replied. 

"We  do  not  know  the  ground." 

"I  do." 

The  skipper  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"And  they  have  treated  you  —  but  you  know  how  they 
have  treated  you,"  Colonel  John  went  on,  appealing  to  the 
lower  motive. 


THESEAMIST  161 

The  group  of  seamen  who  stood  about  the  door  growled 
seamen's   oaths. 

"There  are  things  that  seem  hard,"  the  Colonel  con- 
tinued, "and  being  begun,  pouf!  they  are  done  while  you 
think  of  them!" 

Captain  Augustin  of  Bordeaux  swelled  out  his  breast. 
"That  is  true,"  he  said.     "I  have  done  things  like  that." 

"Then  do  one  more!" 

The  skipper's  eyes  surveyed  the  men's  faces.  He 
caught  the  spark  in  their  eyes.     "  I  will  do  it,"  he  cried. 

"Good!"  Colonel  John  cried.     "The  arms  first!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  SLIP 

FLAVIA  McMURROUGH  enjoyed  one  advantage 
over  her  partners  in  conspiracy.      She  could  rise 
on  the  morning  after  the  night  of   the  bonfires 
with  a  clear  head. 

Colonel  John  had  scarcely  passed  away  under  guard 
before  she  was  afoot,  gay  as  a  lark  and  trilling  like  one,  for 
on  this  day  would  they  begin  a  work  the  end  of  which  no 
man  could  see,  but  which,  to  the  close  of  time,  should  shed 
a  lustre  on  the  name  of  McMurrough.  No  more  should 
their  native  land  be  swept  along,  a  chained  slave  in  the 
train  of  a  more  brutal,  a  more  violent,  and  a  more  stupid 
people!  From  this  day  Ireland's  valour  should  be 
recognized  for  what  it  was,  her  wit  be  turned  to  good  uses, 
her  old  traditions  be  revived  in  the  light  of  new  glories. 
The  tears  rose  to  the  girl's  eyes,  her  bosom  heaved,  as  she 
pictured  the  fruition  of  the  work  to  be  begun  this  day 
and  with  clasped  hands  and  prayerful  eyes  sang  her 
morning  hymn. 

The  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes  and  with  an  overflowing 
heart  she  thanked  heaven  for  the  grace  and  favour  that 
assigned  her  a  part  in  the  work.  It  was  much  —  may  she 
be  forgiven!  —  if,  in  the  first  enthusiasm  of  the  morning, 

162 


A  SLIP  163 

she  gave  a  single  thought  to  the  misguided  kinsman  whose 
opposition  had  exposed  him  to  dangers  at  which  she 
vaguely  guessed. 

She  lived  in  a  dream,  but  a  golden  dream,  and  when 
she  descended  to  the  living-room  her  lips  quivered  as  she 
kissed  the  Bishop's  hand  and  received  on  her  bent  knees 
his  episcopal  blessing.  "And  on  this  house,  my  daughter," 
he  added,  "and  on  this  day!" 

"Amen!"  she  murmured  in  her  heart. 

True,  breakfast,  and  the  hour  after  breakfast,  gave  some 
pause  to  her  happiness.  The  men's  nerves  were  on  edge 
with  potheen  and  they  had  not  been  at  table  five  minutes 
before  quarrelling  broke  out.  The  Spanish  officer  who 
was  in  attendance  on  Cammock  came  to  words  with  one 
of  the  O'Beirnes,  who  resented  the  notion  that  the 
Admiral's  safety  was  not  sufficiently  secured  by  the  Irish 
about  him.  The  peace  was  kept  with  difficulty,  and  so 
much  ill-feeling  survived  the  outbreak  that  Cammock 
thought  it  prudent  to  remit  two-thirds  of  the  sailors  to  the 
ship. 

This  was  not  a  promising  beginning,  where  the  numbers 
were  already  so  scanty  that  the  Bishop  wondered  in  his 
heart  whether  his  dupes  would  dare  to  pass  from  words  to 
action.  But  it  was  not  all.  Some  one  spoke  of  Asgill,  and 
of  another  justice  in  the  neighbourhood,  asserting  that 
their  hearts  were  with  the  rising,  and  that  at  a  later  point 
their  aid  might  be  expected. 

"The  Evil  One's  spawn!"  cried  Sir  Donny,  rising  in 
his   place,  and   speaking   under   the   influence   of   great 


164  THEWILDGEESE 

excitement.  "If  you're  for  dealing  with  them,  I'm 
riding!  No  Protestants!  I  'd  as  soon  never  wear  sword 
again  as  wear  it  in  their  company." 

"You  're  not  meaning  it,  Sir  Donny!"  Uncle  Ulick  said. 

"Faith,  but  if  he  's  not,  I  am!"  cried  old  Tim  Burke, 
rising  and  banging  the  table  with  his  fist.  "  'T  is  what 
I  'm  meaning,  and  not  a  bit  of  a  mistake!     Just  that!" 

Another  backed  him,  with  so  much  violence  that  the 
most  moderate  and  sensible  looked  serious  and  it  needed 
the  Bishop's  interference  to  calm  the  storm.  "We  need 
not  decide  one  way  or  the  other,"  he  said,  "  until  they  come 
in."  Probably  he  thought  that  an  unlikely  contingency. 
"There  are  arguments  on  both  sides,"  he  continued, 
blandly.  "But  of  this  at  another  time.  I  think  we  must 
be  moving,  gentlemen.     It  grows  late." 

While  the  gentry  talked  thus  at  table,  the  courtyard  and 
the  space  between  the  house  and  the  lake  began  to  present, 
where  the  mist  allowed  them  to  be  seen,  the  lively  and 
animated  appearance  which  the  Irish,  ever  lovers  of  a 
crowd,  admire.  Food  and  drink  were  there  served  to  the 
barefoot,  shock-headed  boys  drawn  up  in  bodies  under 
their  priests,  or  under  the  great  men's  agents;  and  when 
these  matters  had  been  consumed  one  band  after  another 
moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the  rendezvous.  This  was  at 
the  Carraghalin,  a  name  long  given  to  the  ruins  of  an 
abbey  situate  in  an  upland  valley  above  the  waterfall. 

The  orders  for  all  were  to  take  their  seats  in  an  orderly 
fashion  and  in  a  mighty  semicircle  about  a  well-known 
rock  situate  a  hundred  yards  from  the  abbey.     Tradition 


A  SLIP  165 

reported  that  in  old  days  this  rock  had  been  a  pulpit,  and 
that  thence  the  Irish  Apostle  had  preached  to  the  heathen. 
The  turf  about  it  was  dry,  sweet,  and  sheep  bitten;  on 
either  side  it  sloped  gently  to  the  rock,  while  a  sentry 
posted  on  each  of  the  two  low  hills  which  flanked  the  vale 
was  a  sufficient  surety  against  surprise. 

It  was  not  until  the  last  of  the  peasants  had  filed  off  that 
the  gentry  began  to  make  their  way  in  the  same  direction. 
The  buckeens  were  the  first  to  go,  while  the  last  to  leave 
were  the  Admiral  and  the  Bishop,  honourably  escorted, 
as  became  their  rank,  by  their  host  and  hostess. 

Freed  from  the  wrangling  and  confusion  which  the 
presence  of  the  others  bred,  Flavia  regained  her  serenity 
as  she  walked.  There  was  nothing,  indeed,  in  the  face  of 
nature,  in  the  mist  and  the  dark  day,  and  the  moisture 
that  hung  in  beads  on  thorn  and  furze,  to  cheer  her.  But 
she  drew  her  spirits  from  a  higher  source,  and,  sanguine 
and  self-reliant,  foreseeing  naught  but  success,  stepped 
proudly  along  beside  the  Bishop,  who  found,  perhaps,  in 
her  presence  and  her  courage  a  make-weight  for  the  gloom 
of  the  day. 

"You  are  sure,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  that  we  shall  not  lose 
our  way?" 

"Ah!  and  I  am  sure,"  she  answered,  "I  could  take  you 
blindfold." 

"The  mist " 

"  It  stands,  my  lord,  for  the  mist  overhanging  this  poor 
land,  which  our  sun  shall  disperse." 

"God  grant  it!"  he  said.      "God  grant  it,  indeed,  my 


166  THEWILDGEESE 

daughter!"  But,  do  what  he  would,  he  spoke  without 
fervour. 

They  passed  along  the  lake  edge,  catching  now  and  then 
the  shimmer  of  water  on  their  right.  Thence  they 
ascended  the  steep  path  that  led  up  the  glen  of  the  water- 
fall to  the  level  of  the  platform  on  which  the  old  tower 
stood.  Leaving  this  on  the  right,  they  climbed  yet  a  little 
higher,  and  entered  a  deep  driftway  that,  at  the  summit  of 
the  gorge,  clove  its  way  between  the  mound  behind  the 
tower  and  the  hill  on  their  left,  and  so  penetrated  presently 
to  the  valley  of  the  Carraghalin.  The  mist  was  thinner 
here,  the  nature  of  the  ground  was  more  perceptible,  and 
they  had  not  proceeded  fifty  yards  along  the  sunken  way 
before  Cammock,  who  was  leading,  in  the  company  of 
The  McMurrough,  halted. 

*'A  fine  place  for  a  stand,"  he  said,  looking  about  him 
with  a  soldierly  eye.  "And  better  for  an  ambush. 
Especially  on  such  a  morning  as  this,  when  you  cannot  see 
a  man  five  paces  away." 

"I  trust,"  the  Bishop  answered,  smiling,  "that  we  shall 
have  no  need  to  make  the  one  or  to  fear  the  other." 

"You  could  hold  this,"  Flavia  asked  eagerly,  "with  such 
men  as  we  have  ?  " 

"Against  an  army,"  Cammock  answered. 

"Against  an  army!"  she  murmured  as,  her  heart  beat- 
ing high  with  pride,  they  resumed  their  way,  Flavia  and 
the  Bishop  in  the  van.  "Against  an  army!"  she  repeated 
fondly. 

The  words  had  not  fully  left  her  lips  when  she  recoiled. 


A  SLIP  167 

At  the  same  moment  the  Bishop  uttered  an  exclamation, 
Cammock  swore  and  seized  his  hilt,  The  McMurrough 
turned  as  if  to  flee.  For  on  the  path  close  to  them,  facing 
them  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  stood  Colonel  Sullivan. 

He  levelled  the  pistol  at  the  head  of  the  nearest  man, 
and  though  Flavia,  with  instant  presence  of  mind,  struck 
it  up,  the  act  helped  little.  Before  Cammock  could  clear 
his  blade,  or  his  companions  back  up  his  resistance,  four 
or  five  men  of  Colonel  John's  following,  flung  themselves 
on  them  from  behind.  They  were  seized,  strong  arms 
pinioned  them,  knives  were  at  their  throats.  In  a  twink- 
ling, and  while  they  still  expected  death,  sacks  were  dragged 
over  their  heads  and  down  to  their  waists,  and  they  were 
helpless. 

It  was  well,  it  was  neatly  done;  and  completely  done, 
with  a  single  drawback.  The  men  had  not  seized  Flavia, 
and,  white  as  paper,  but  with  rage,  not  fear,  she  screamed 
shrilly  for  help  —  screamed  twice. 

She  would  have  screamed  a  third  time,  but  Colonel 
Sullivan,  who  knew  that  they  were  scarcely  two  furlongs 
from  the  meeting-place,  and  from  some  hundreds  of  merci- 
less foes,  did  the  only  thing  possible.  He  flung  his  arms 
round  her,  pressed  her  face  roughly  against  his  shoulder, 
smothered  her  cries  remorselessly.  Then  raising  her, 
aided  by  the  man  with  the  musket,  he  bore  her,  vainly 
struggling  —  and,  it  must  be  owned,  scratching  —  after 
the  others  out  of  the  driftway. 

The  thincr  done,  the  Colonel's  little  band  of  Frenchmen 
knew  that  they  had  cast  the  die  and  must  now  succeed 


168  THEWILD    GEESE 

or  perish.  The  girl's  screams,  quickly  suppressed,  might 
not  have  given  the  alarm;  but  they  had  set  nerves  on  edge. 
The  prick  of  a  knife  was  used  —  and  often  —  to  apprize 
the  blinded  prisoners  that  if  they  did  not  move  they  would 
be  piked.  They  were  dragged,  a  seaman  on  either  side  of 
each  captive,  over  some  hundred  paces  of  rough  ground, 
through  the  stream,  and  so  into  a  path  little  better  than  a 
sheep-track  which  ran  round  the  farther  side  of  the  hill 
of  the  tower,  and  descended  that  way  to  the  more  remote 
bank  of  the  lake.  It  was  a  rugged  path,  steep  and  slippery, 
dropping  precipitously  a  couple  of  feet  in  places,  and  more 
than  once  following  the  bed  of  the  stream.  But  it  was 
traceable  even  in  the  mist,  and  the  party  from  the  sloop, 
once  put  on  it,  could  follow  it. 

If  no  late  comer  to  the  meeting  encountered  them, 
Colonel  John,  to  whom  every  foot  of  the  ground  was 
familiar,  saw  no  reason,  apart  from  the  chances  of  pursuit 
why  they  should  not  convey  their  prisoners  to  the  sloop. 
All,  however,  depended  on  time.  If  Flavia's  screams  had 
not  given  the  alarm,  it  would  soon  be  given  by  the  absence 
of  those  whom  the  people  had  come  to  meet.  The  missing 
leaders  would  be  sought,  pursuit  would  be  organized. 

But,  with  peril  on  every  side  of  them,  Flavia  was  still 
the  main,  the  real  difficulty.  Colonel  Sullivan  could  not 
hope  to  carry  her  far,  even  with  the  help  of  the  man  who 
fettered  her  feet,  and  bore  part  of  her  weight.  Twice  she 
freed  her  mouth  and  uttered  a  stifled  cry.  The  Colonel 
only  pressed  her  face  more  ruthlessly  to  him  —  his  men's 
lives  depended  on  her  silence.     But  the  sweat  stood  on 


A  SLIP  169 

his  brow;  and,  after  carrying  her  no  more  than  three 
hundred  yards,  he  staggered  under  the  unwilling  burden. 
He  was  on  the  path  now  and  descending,  and  he  held  out 
a  little  farther. 

But  presently,  when  he  hoped  that  she  had  swooned, 
she  fell  to  struggling  more  desperately.  He  thought,  on 
this,  that  he  might  be  smothering  her;  and  he  relaxed  his 
hold  to  allow  her  to  breathe.  For  reward  she  struck 
him  madly,  furiously  in  the  face,  and  he  had  to  stifle 
her  again. 

But  his  heart  was  sick  It  was  a  horrible,  a  brutal 
business,  a  thing  he  had  not  foreseen  on  board  the  Cor- 
morant. He  had  supposed  that  she  would  faint  at  the  first 
alarm;  and  his  courage,  which  would  have  faced  almost 
any  event  with  coolness,  quailed.  He  could  not  murder 
.the  girl,  and  she  would  not  be  silent.  No,  she  would  not 
be  silent!  Short  of  setting  her  down  and  binding  her  hand 
and  foot,  which  would  take  time,  and  was  horrible  to 
imagine,  he  could  not  see  what  to  do.  And  the  man  with 
him,  who  saw  the  rest  of  the  party  outstripping  them, 
and  as  good  as  disappearing  in  the  fog,  who  fancied,  with 
every  step,  that  he  heard  the  feet  of  merciless  pursuers 
overtaking  them,  was  frantic  with  impatience. 

Then  Colonel  John,  with  the  sweat  standing  on  his  brow, 
did  a  thing  to  which  he  afterward  looked  back  with  great 
astonishment. 

"  Give  me  your  knife,"  he  said,  with  a  groan,  "and  hold 
her  hands!  We  must  silence  her,  and  there  is  only  one 
way!" 


170  THEWILDGEESE 

The  man,  terrified  as  he  was,  and  selfish  as  terrified 
men  are,  recoiled  from  the  deed.  "My  God! "he  said. 
"No!" 

"Yes!"  Colonel  John  retorted  fiercely.  "The  knife! 
—  the  knife,  man!     And  do  you  hold  her  hands!" 

With  a  jerk  he  lifted  her  face  from  his  breast  —  and  this 
time  she  neither  struck  him  nor  screamed.  The  man 
had  half-heartedly  drawn  his  knife.  The  Colonel  snatched 
it  from  him.  "Now  her  hands!"  he  said.  "Hold  her, 
fool!     I  know  where  to  strike!" 

She  opened  her  mouth  to  shriek,  but  no  sound  came. 
She  had  heard,  she  understood;  and  for  a  moment  she 
could  neither  struggle  nor  cry.  That  terror  which  rage 
and  an  almost  indomitable  spirit  had  kept  at  bay  seized 
her;  the  sight  of  the  gleaming  death  poised  above  her 
paralyzed  her  throat.  Her  mouth  gaped,  her  eyes  glared 
at  the  steel;  then,  with  a  queer  sobbing  sound,  she  fainted. 

"Thank  God!"  the  Colonel  cried.  He  thrust  the  knife 
back  into  the  man's  hands,  and,  raising  the  girl  again  in 
his  arms,  "There  's  a  house  a  little  below,"  he  said.  "We 
can  leave  her  there!     Hurry,  man!  —  hurry!" 

He  had  not  traversed  that  road  for  twenty  years,  but  his 
memory  had  not  tricked  him.  Less  than  fifty  paces  below 
they  came  on  a  cabin,  close  to  the  foot  of  the  waterfall. 
The  door  was  not  fastened  —  for  what,  in  such  a  place, 
was  there  to  steal  ?  —  and  Colonel  John  thrust  it  open  with 
his  foot.  The  interior  was  dark,  the  place  was  almost 
windowless;  but  he  made  out  the  form  of  an  old  crone 
who,  nursing  her  knees,  crouched  with  a  pipe  in  her 


1 


THEN,  WITH   A  QIEEK  FOBBING  t^Ul.NU  .SHE    EAi.NTEU 


A  SLIP  171 

mouth  beside  a  handful  of  peat.  Seeing  him,  the  woman 
tottered  to  her  feet  with  a  cry  of  alarm,  and  shaded  her 
bleared  eyes  from  the  inrush  of  daylight.  She  gabbled 
shrilly,  but  she  knew  only  Erse,  and  Colonel  John 
attempted  no  explanation. 

"The  Lady  of  the  House,"  he  said,  in  that  tongue.  And 

he  laid  Flavia,  not  ungently,  but  very  quickly,  on  the  floor. 

He  turned  about  without  another  word,  shut  the  door  on 

the  two,  and  hurried  along  the  path  at  the  full  stretch  of  his 

legs.     In  half  a  minute  he  had  overtaken  his  companion, 

and  the  two  pressed  on  together  on  the  heels  of  the  main 

oarty. 

The  old  beldame,  left  alone  with  the  girl,  viewed  her 

'ith  an  astonishment  which  would  have  been  greater  if 

le  had  not  reached  that  age  at  which  all  sensations  become 

ulled.     How  the  Lady  of  the  House,  who  was  to  her  both 

ower  and  Providence,  came  to  be  there,  and  there  in  that 

s  ite,  passed  her  conception.     But  she  had  the  sense  to 

loosen  the  girl's  frock  at  the  neck,  to  throw  water  on  her 

face,  and  to  beat  her  hands.     In  a  verv  few  minutes  Flavia, 

who    had    never    swooned    before  —  fashionable    as    the 

exercise  was  at  this  period  in  feminine  society  —  sighed 

once  or  twice,  and  came  to  herself. 

"^Miere  am  I  ?"  she  muttered.  Still  for  some  moments 
she  continued  to  look  about  her  in  a  dazed  way;  at  length 
she  recognized  the  old  woman,  and  the  cottage.  Then 
she  remembered,  with  a  moan,  what  had  happened  — 
the  ambuscade,  the  flight,  the  knife. 
She  could  not  turn  whiter,  but  she  shuddered  and  closed 


172  THEWILDGEESE 

her  eyes.  At  last,  with  shrinking,  she  looked  at  her  ciress. 
"Am  I  —  hurt?"  she  whispered. 

The  old  woman  did  not  understand,  but  she  patted 
Flavia's  hand.  Meanwhile  the  girl  saw  that  there  was  no 
blood  on  her  dress,  and  she  found  courage  to  raise  her 
hand  to  her  throat.  She  found  no  wound.  At  that  she 
smiled  faintly.  Then  she  began  to  cry  —  for  she  was  a 
woman. 

But,  broken  as  she  was  by  that  moment  of  terror,  Flavia 
very  quickly  overcame  her  weakness.  She  rose,  she 
understood,  and  she  extended  her  arms  in  rage  and  grief 
and  unavailing  passion. 

She  would  that  the  villains  had  killed  her!  She  would 
that  they  had  finished  her  life!  Why  should  she  survive, 
except  for  vengeance?  For  not  only  were  her  hopes  for 
Ireland  fallen;  not  only  were  those  who  had  trusted  them- 
selves to  The  McMurrough  perishing  even  now  in  the 
hands  of  ruthless  foes;  but  her  brother,  whom  her  prayers, 
her  influence,  had  brought  into  this  path,  he  too  was 
snared,  of  his  fate  also  there  could  be  no  doubt! 

She  felt  all  that  was  most  keen,  most  poignant,  of  grief, 
of  anger,  of  indignation.  But  the  sharpest  pang  of  all  — 
had  she  analyzed  her  feelings  —  was  inflicted  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  failure,  and  of  failure  verging  on  the  ignomin- 
ious. The  mature  take  good  and  evil  fortune  as  they 
come;  but  to  fail  at  first  setting  out  in  life,  to  be  outwitted 
in  the  opening  venture,  is  a  mishap  which  sours  the 
magnanimous  and  poisons  young  blood. 

She  had  not  known  before  what  it  was  to  hate.     Now 


A  SLIP  173 

she  only  lived  to  hate:  to  hate  the  man  who  had  shown 
himself  so  much  cleverer  than  her  friends,  who,  in  a 
twinkling,  and  by  a  single  blow,  had  wrecked  her  plans, 
duped  her  allies,  betrayed  her  brother,  made  her  name  a 
lau";hino;-stock,  robbed  Ireland  of  a  last  chance  of  freedom! 
Who  had  held  her  in  his  arms,  terrified  her,  mastered  her! 
Oh,  why  had  she  swooned?  Why  had  she  not  rather, 
disregarding  her  womanish  weakness,  her  womanish  fears, 
snatched  the  knife  from  him  and  plunged  it  into  his 
treacherous  breast? 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  colonel's  TERMS 

CAMMOCK  and  the  Bishop,  certain  only  that 
they  were  in  hostile  hands,  and  hurried,  bhnd 
and  helpless,  to  an  unknown  doom,  might  have 
been  pardoned  had  they  succumbed  to  despair.  But 
they  did  not  succumb.  The  habit  of  danger,  and  a  hun- 
dred adventures  and  escapes,  had  hardened  them;  they 
felt  more  rage  than  fear.  Stunned  for  a  moment  by  the 
audacity  of  the  attack,  they  had  not  been  dragged  a  hun- 
dred yards  before  they  began  to  calculate  the  chances. 
If  the  purpose  of  those  into  whose  hands  they  had  fallen 
were  to  murder  them  they  would  have  been  piked  on  the 
spot.  On  the  other  hand,  if  their  captors'  object  was  to 
deliver  them  to  English  justice,  weeks,  if  not  months,  must 
elapse  before  they  stood  at  the  bar  on  a  capital  charge; 
much  water  must  flow  under  the  bridges,  and  many 
a  thing  might  happen,  by  force  or  fraud,  in  the  interval. 

So,  half-stifled  and  bitterly  chagrined  as  they  were,  they 
did  not  waste  their  strength  in  a  vain  resistance. 

With  the  third  of  the  prisoners  it  was  otherwise.  The 
courage  of  the  Irish  is  more  conspicuous  in  the  advance 
than  in  the  retreat;  and  even  of  that  joy  in  the  conflict, 
which  is  their  birthright  and  their  fame,  Flavia  had  taken 

174 


THE    COLONEL'S   TERMS        175 

more  than  her  woman's  share.  Li  James  McMurrough's 
mean  nature  there  was  small  room  for  the  generous 
passions.  Unlike  his  sister,  he  would  have  struck  the  face 
of  no  man  in  whose  power  he  lay;  nor  was  he  one  to  keep 
a  stout  heart  when  his  hands  were  bound.  Conscience 
does  not  always  make  cowards.  But  he  knew  into  whose 
hands  he  had  fallen,  he  knew  the  fate  to  which  he  had 
himself  consigned  Colonel  John,  and  his  heart  was  water, 
his  hair  rose,  as  he  pictured  in  livid  hues  the  fate  that  now 
awaited  himself. 

As  he  had  meant  to  do  to  the  other,  it  would  be  done  to 
him!  He  felt  the  cruel  pike  rend  the  gasping  throat. 
Or  would  they  throw  him,  bound  and  blind  as  he  was,  into 
the  sullen  lake — yes,  that  was  it!  They  were  carrying 
him  that  way,  they  were  taking  him  to  the  lake. 

And  once  and  twice,  in  the  insanity  of  fear,  he  fought 
with  his  bonds  until  the  blood  came,  even  throwing  himself 
down,  until  the  men,  out  of  patience,  pricked  him  savagely, 
and  drove  him,  venting  choked  cries  of  pain,  to  his  feet 
again.  After  the  second  attempt  he  staggered  on,  beaten, 
hopeless. 

He  was  aware  that  Colonel  John  was  not  with  them,  and 
then,  again,  that  he  was  with  them;  and  then  —  they  were 
on  the  wide  track  now  between  the  end  of  the  lake  and  the 
sea  —  that  they  were  proceeding  with  increased  caution. 
That  might  have  given  a  braver  man  hope,  the  hope  of 
rescue.  But  rescue  had  itself  terrors  for  The  McMur- 
rough.  His  captors,  if  pressed,  might  hasten  the  end,  or 
his  friends  might  strike  him  in  the  m^lee.     And  so,  with 


176  THEWILDGEESE 

every  furlong  of  the  forced  journey,  he  died  a  fresh  death. 
And  the  furlongs  seemed  interminable.  But  at  last  he 
heard  the  fall  of  the  waves  on  the  shore,  the  men  about 
him  spoke  louder,  he  caught  a  distant  hail.  Laughter  and 
exclamations  of  triumph  reached  him,  and  the  voices  of 
men  who  had  won  in  spite  of  odds. 

Then  a  boat  grated  on  the  pebbles,  he  was  lifted  into  it, 
and  thrust  down  in  the  bottom.  He  felt  it  float  off,  and 
heard  the  measured  sound  of  the  oars  in  the  thole-pins. 
A  few  moments  elapsed,  the  sound  of  the  oars  ceased, 
the  boat  bumped  something.  He  was  raised  to  his  feet, 
his  hands  were  unbound,  he  was  set  on  a  rope-ladder,  and 
bidden  to  climb.  Obeying  with  shaking  knees,  he  was 
led  across  what  he  guessed  to  be  a  deck,  and  down  steep 
stairs.  Then  his  head  was  freed  from  the  sack,  and, 
sweating,  disheveled,  pale  with  exhaustion  and  fear,  he 
looked  about  him. 

The  fog  was  still  thick  outside,  turning  day  into  twilight, 
and  the  cabin  lamp  had  been  lit  and  swung  above  the  nar- 
row table,  filling  the  low-browed,  Dutch-like  interior  with 
a  strong  but  shifting  light.  Behind  the  table  Colonel  John 
and  the  skipper  leant  against  a  bulkhead;  before  them,  on 
the  nearer  side  of  the  table,  were  ranged  the  three  captives. 
Behind  these,  again,  the  dark,  grinning  faces  of  the  sailors, 
with  their  tarred  pigtails  and  flashing  eyes,  filled  the  door- 
way; and,  beyond  doubt,  viewed  under  the  uncertain  light 
of  the  lamp,  they  showed  a  wild  and  savage  crew.  As 
James  McMurrough  looked,  his  hopes,  which  had  risen 
during  the  last  few  minutes,  sank.     Escape,  or  chance  of 


THE    COLONEL'S   TERMS         177 

escape,  there  was  none.  He  was  helpless,  and  what  those 
into  whose  hands  he  had  fallen  determined,  he  must 
suffer.  For  a  moment  his  heart  stood  still,  his  mouth 
gaped,  he  swayed  on  his  feet.  Then  he  clutched  the 
table  and  steadied  himself. 

"I  am  —  giddy,"  he  muttered. 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  have  been  put  to  so  much  incon- 
venience," Colonel  John  answered  civilly. 

The  words,  the  tone,  might  have  reassured  him  if  he 
had  not  suspected  a  devilish  irony.  Even  when  Colonel 
John  proceeded  to  direct  one  of  the  men  to  open  a  port- 
hole and  admit  more  air,  he  derived  no  comfort  from  the 
attention.  But  steady!  Colonel  John  was  speaking 
again. 

"You,  too,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  addressing  Cammock 
and  the  Bishop,  "  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  been  forced  to  put 
you  to  so  much  discomfort.  But  I  saw  no  other  way  of 
effecting  my  purpose.  And,"  he  went  on  with  a  smile, 
"if  you  ask  my  warranty  for  acting  as  I  have  acted " 

"I  do!"  the  Bishop  said  between  his  teeth.  The 
Admiral  said  nothing,  but  breathed  hard. 

"Then  I  can  only  vouch,"  the  Colonel  answered, 
"  the  authority  by  virtue  of  which  you  seized  me  yesterday. 
I  give  you  credit,  reverend  father,  and  you,  Admiral,  for 
a  belief  that  in  creating  a  rising  here  you  were  serving  a 
cause  which  you  think  worthy  of  sacrifice  —  the  sacrifice 
of  others  as  well  as  of  yourselves.  But  I  tell  you,  as 
frankly,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  prevent  that  rising;  and  for 
the  moment  fortune  is  with  me.    Now  I  need  hardly  say," 


178  THEWILDGEESE 

Colonel  John  continued,  with  an  appearance  almost  of 
bonhomie,  "that  I  do  not  wish  to  go  further  than  is  neces- 
sary. I  might  hand  you  over  to  the  English  authorities. 
But  far  be  it  from  me  to  do  that!  I  would  have  no  man's 
blood  on  my  hands.  And  though  I  say  at  once  I  would  not 
shrink,  were  there  no  other  way  of  saving  innocent  lives, 
from  sending  you  to  the  scaffold " 

"A  thousand  thanks  to  you!"  the  Bishop  said.  But, 
brave  man  as  he  was,  the  irony  in  his  voice  masked  relief; 
and  not  then,  but  a  moment  later,  he  passed  his  handker- 
chief across  his  brow.  Cammock  said  nothing,  but  the 
angry,  bloodshot  eyes  which  he  fixed  on  the  Colonel  lost 
a  little  of  their  ferocity. 

"I  say,  I  would  not  shrink  from  doing  that,"  Colonel 
John  continued  mildly,  "were  it  necessary.  Fortunately 
for  us  all,  it  is  not  necessary.  I  must  provide  against  your 
immediate  return.  I  must  see  that  the  movement  which 
will  die  in  your  absence  is  not  revived  by  any  word  from 
you.  To  that  end,  gentlemen,  I  must  put  you  to  the 
inconvenience  of  a  prolonged  sea-voyage." 

"  If  I  could  speak  with  you  in  private  ?  "  the  Bishop  said. 

"You  will  have  every  opportunity,"  Colonel  John 
answered,  smiling,  "of  speaking  to  Captain  Augustin  in 
private." 

"Still,  sir,  if  I  could  see  you  alone  I  think  I  could  con- 
vince you " 

"You  shall  have  every  opportunity  of  convincing  Cap- 
tain Augustin,"  Colonel  John  returned,  smiling  more 
broadly,  "  and  of  convincing  him  by  the  same  means  which 


THE    COLONELS  TERMS         179 

I  venture  to  think,  reverend  sir,  you  would  employ  with  me. 
To  be  plain,  he  will  take  you  to  sea  for  a  certain  period  and 
at  the  end  of  that  time,  if  your  arguments  are  sufficiently 
weighty,  he  will  land  you  on  the  French  shore.  He  will 
be  at  the  loss  of  his  cargo,  and  that  loss  I  fear  you  will 
have  to  make  good.  Something,  too,  he  may  charge  by 
way  of  interest,  and  for  your  passage."  By  this  time  the 
sailors  were  on  the  broad  grin.  "A  trifle,  perhaps,  for 
landing  dues.  But  I  have  spoken  with  him  to  be 
moderate,  and  I  doubt  not  that  within  a  few  weeks 
you.  Admiral  Cammock,  will  be  with  your  command, 
and  the  reverend  father  will  be  pursuing  his  calling  in 
another  place." 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  save  for  a  titter  from 
the  group  of  seamen.  Then  Cammock  laughed  —  a  curt, 
barking  laugh.  "A  bite!"  he  said.  " If  I  can  ever  repay 
it,  sir,  I  will!     Be  sure  of  that!" 

Colonel  John  bowed  courteously. 

The  Bishop  took  it  otherwise.  The  veins  on  his  fore- 
head swelled,  and  he  had  much  ado  to  control  himself. 
The  truth  was,  he  feared  ridicule  more  than  he  feared 
danger,  perhaps  more  than  he  feared  death;  and  such  an 
end  to  such  an  enterprise  was  hard  to  bear. 

"  Is  there  no  alternative  ?  "  he  asked,  barely  able  to  speak 
for  the  chagrin  that  took  him  by  the  throat. 

"One,  if  you  prefer  it,"  Colonel  Sullivan  answered 
suavely.  "You  can  take  your  chance  with  the  English 
authorities.  For  myself,  I  lean  to  the  course  I  have 
suggested." 


180  THEWILDGEESE 

"  If  money  were  paid  down  —  now  ?     Now,  sir  ?  " 

"It  would  not  avail." 

"Much  money?" 

"No." 

The  Bishop  glared  at  him  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  his 
face  relaxed,  his  eyes  grew  mild,  his  chin  sank  on  his 
breast.  His  fingers  drummed  on  the  table.  "His  will  be 
done!"  he  said  —  "His  will  be  done!    I  was  not  worthy." 

His  surrender  seemed  to  sting  Cammock.  Perhaps  in 
the  course  of  their  joint  adventures  he  had  come  to  know 
and  to  respect  his  companion,  and  felt  more  for  him  than 
for  himself. 

"  If  I  had  you  on  my  quarter-deck  for  only  half  an  hour," 
he  growled,  "I  would  learn  who  was  the  better  man! 
All,  my  man,  I  would!" 

"The  doubt  flatters  me,"  Colonel  John  answered, 
viewing  them  both  with  great  respect;  for  he  saw  that, 
bad  or  good,  they  were  men.  Then,  "  That  being  settled,'* 
he  continued,  "I  shall  ask  you,  gentlemen,  to  go  on  deck 
for  a  few  moments,  that  I  may  say  a  word  to  my  kinsman." 

"He  is  not  to  go  with  us  ?" 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  Colonel  John  replied,  a 
note  of  sternness  in  his  voice.  Still  they  hesitated,  and  he 
stood;  but  at  last,  in  obedience  to  his  courteous  gesture, 
they  bowed,  turned  —  with  a  deep  sigh  on  the  Bishop's 
part  —  and  clambered  up  the  companion.  The  seamen 
had  already  vanished  at  a  word  from  Augustin,  who  him- 
self proceeded  to  follow  his  prisoners  on  deck. 

"Sit  down!"  Colonel  Sullivan  said,  the  same  sternness 


THE    COLONEL'S   TERMS         181 

in  his  voice.  And  he  sat  down  on  his  side  of  the  table, 
while  James  McMurrough,  with  a  sullen  look  but  a 
beating  heart,  took  his  seat  on  the  other.  The  fear  of 
immediate  death  had  left  the  young  man ;  he  tried  to  put 
on  an  air  of  bravado,  but  with  so  little  success  that  if  his 
sister  had  seen  him  thus  she  had  been  blind  indeed  if  she 
had  not  discerned,  between  these  two  men  seated  opposite 
to  one  another,  the  difference  that  exists  between  the  great 
and  the  small,  the  strong  and  the  infirm  of  purpose. 

It  was  significant  of  that  difference  that  the  one  was 
silent  at  will,  while  the  other  spoke  because  he  had  not  the 
force  to  be  silent. 

"What  are  you  wanting  with  me?"  the  young  man 
asked. 

"Is  it  not  you,"  Colonel  John  answered,  with  a  piercing 
look,  "will  be  wanting  to  know  where  O'Sullivan  Og  is  — 
O'Sullivan  Og,  whom  you  sent  to  do  your  bidding  this 
morning." 

The  young  man  turned  a  shade  paler,  and  his  bravado 
fell  from  him.  His  breath  seemed  to  stop.  Then, 
"Where?"  he  whispered  —  "where  is  he?" 

"Where,  I  pray,  heaven,"  Colonel  John  answered,  with 
the  same  solemnity,  "may  have  mercy  upon  him." 

"He  is  not  dead?"  The  McMurrough  cried,  his  voice 
rising  on  the  last  word. 

"  I  have  little  doubt  he  is,"  the  Colonel  replied.  "  Dead, 
sir!  And  the  men  who  were  with  him  —  dead  also,  or  the 
most  part  of  them.  Dead,  James  McMurrough,  on  the 
errand  they  went  for  you." 


182  THEWILDGEESE 

The  shock  of  the  news  struck  the  young  man  dumb, 
and  for  some  moments  he  stared  at  the  Colonel,  his  face 
colourless.  At  length,  "All  dead  ? "  he  whispered.  "  Not 
all?" 

"For  what  I  know!"  Colonel  John  replied.  "Heaven 
forgive  them!"  And,  in  half  a  dozen  sentences,  he  told 
him  what  had  happened.  Then:  "They  are  the  first 
fruits,"  he  continued  sternly;  "God  grant  that  they  be  the 
last  fruits  of  this  reckless  plot!  Not  that  I  blame  them, 
who  did  but  as  they  were  bid.  Nor  do  I  blame  any  man 
or  any  woman  who  embarked  on  this  with  a  single  heart, 
for  the  sake  of  an  end  which  they  set  above  their  own  lives. 
But  —  but"  —  and  Colonel  John's  voice  grew  more 
grave  —  "there  was  one  who  had  not  a  single  heart. 
There  was  one  who  was  willing  to  do  murder,  not  in  blind 
obedience,  nor  for  a  great  cause,  but  to  serve  his  own 
private  interest." 

"No!  no!"  the  young  man  cried,  cowering  before  him. 
"It  is  not  true!" 

"One  who  was  ready  to  do  murder,"  Colonel  John  con- 
tinued pitilessly,  "  because  it  suited  him  to  remove  a  man! " 

"No!  no!"  the  wretched  youth  cried,  almost  grovelling 
before  him.     "It  was  all  of  them!  —  it  was  all!" 

"It  was  not  all!"  Colonel  John  retorted;  but  there  was 
a  keenness  in  his  face  which  showed  that  he  had  still  some- 
thing to  learn. 

"It  was  —  those  two  —  on  deck!"  The  McMurrough 
cried  eagerly.  "I  swear  it  was!  They  said  —  it  was 
necessary." 


THE    COLONEL'S   TERMS         183 

"They  were  one  with  you  in  condemning!  Be  it  so! 
I  beheve  you!     But  who  spared?" 

"I!"  The  McMurrough  cried,  breathlessly  eager  to 
exculpate  himself.  "It  was  I  alone.  I!  I  swear  it! 
I  sent  the  boy!" 

"You  spared  ?  Yes,  and  you  alone! "  the  Colonel  made 
answer.  "You  spared  because  you  learned  that  I  had 
made  a  will,  and  you  feared  lest  that  which  had  passed  to 
me  in  trust  might  pass  to  a  stranger  for  good  and  all! 
You  spared  because  it  was  to  your  interest,  your  advan- 
tage!    I  say,  out  of  your  own  mouth  you  are  condemned.'' 

James  McMurrough  had  scarcely  force  to  follow  the 
pitiless  reasoning  by  which  the  elder  man  convicted  him. 
But  his  conscience  filled  the  hiatus,  and  what  his  tongue 
did  not  own  his  colourless  face,  his  terrified  eyes, 
confessed. 

"You  have  fallen  into  our  hands,"  Colonel  John  con- 
tinued, grave  as  fate.  "Why  should  we  not  deal  with 
you  as  you  would  have  dealt  with  us  ?  No ! "  —  the 
young  man  by  a  gesture  had  appealed  to  those  on  deck  — 
"no!  They  may  have  consented  to  my  death ;  but  as  the 
judge  condemns,  or  the  soldier  kills;  you,  for  your  private 
profit  and  advantage.  Nevertheless,  I  shall  not  deal  so 
with  you.  You  can  go  as  they  are  going  —  abroad,  to 
return,  I  hope,  a  wiser  man.     Or " 

"Or  —  what?"  the  young  man  cried  hurriedly. 

"Or  you  can  stay  here,"  Colonel  John  continued,  "and 
we  will  treat  the  past  as  if  it  had  not  been.  But  on  a 
condition." 


184  THEWILDGEESE 

James's  colour  came  back.  "What '11  you  be  want- 
ing?" he  muttered,  averting  his  gaze. 

"You  must  swear  that  you  will  not  pursue  this  foolish 
plan  further.     That  first." 

"What  can  I  be  doing  without  themf"  was  the  sullen 
answer. 

"Very  true,"  Colonel  John  rejoined.  "But  you  must 
swear  also,  my  friend,  that  you  will  not  attempt  anything 
against  me,  nor  be  party  to  anything." 

"What'd  I  be  doing?" 

"Don't  lie!"  the  Colonel  replied,  losing  his  temper  for 
a  single  instant.  "I  've  no  time  to  bandy  words,  and  you 
know  how  you  stand.  Swear  on  your  hope  of  salvation  to 
those  two  things,  and  you  may  stay.  Refuse,  and  I  make 
myself  safe  by  your  absence." 

The  young  man  had  the  sense  to  know  that  he  was 
escaping  lightly.  He  was  willing  enough  to  swear  that  he 
would  not  pursue  that  enterprise  further.  But  the  second 
undertaking  stuck  in  his  gizzard.  He  hated  Colonel  John 
—  for  the  past  wrong,  for  the  past  defeat,  above  all  for 
the  present  humiliation. 

"I'm  having  no  choice,"  he  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"Very  good,"  Colonel  John  answered  curtly.  And, 
going  to  the  door,  he  called  Bale  from  his  station  by  the 
hatchway,  and  despatched  him  to  the  Bishop  and  to 
Admiral  Cammock,  requesting  them  to  do  him  the  honour 
to  descend. 

They  came  readily  enough,  in  the  hope  of  some  favour- 
able turn.     But  the  Colonel's  words  quickly  set  them  right. 


THE    COLONEL'S    TERMS       185 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  politely,  'T  know  you  to  be  men 
of  honour  in  private  life.  For  this  reason  I  have  asked  you 
to  be  present  as  witnesses  to  the  bargain  between  my 
cousin  and  myself.  Blood  is  thicker  than  water:  he  has 
no  mind  to  go  abroad,  and  I  have  no  mind  to  send  him 
against  his  will.  .  But  his  presence,  after  what  has  passed, 
is  a  standing  peril  to  myself.  To  meet  this  difficulty 
he  is  ready  to  swear  by  all  he  holds  sacred,  and  upon  his 
honour,  that  he  will  attempt  nothing  against  me,  nor  be 
a  party  to  it.  Is  that  so,  sir?"  the  speaker  continued. 
"Do  you  willingly,  in  the  presence  of  these  gentlemen, 
give  that  undertaking?" 

The  young  man,  with  averted  eyes  and  a  downcast 
face,  nodded. 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  trouble  you  to  speak,"  Colonel  John 
said. 

"I  do,"  he  muttered,  looking  at  no  one. 

"Further,  that  you  will  not  within  six  months  attempt 
anything  against  the  government?"  Colonel  John 
continued. 

"I  will  not." 

"Very  good.  I  accept  your  word,  and  I  thank  these 
gentlemen  for  their  courtesy  in  condescending  to  act  as 
witnesses.  Admiral  Cammock  and  you,  reverend  father," 
Colonel  John  continued,  "it  remains  but  to  bid  you  fare- 
well, and  to  ask  you  to  believe  "  —  the  Colonel  paused  — 
"that  I  have  not  pushed  further  than  was  necessary  the 
advantage  I  gained." 

"By  a  neat  stroke,  Colonel  Sullivan,"  the  Bishop  replied, 


186  THE  WILD   GEESE 

with  a  rather  sour  smile,  "  not  to  say  a  bold  one.  But  one, 
I  'd  have  you  notice,  that  cannot  be  repeated." 

"Maybe  not,"  the  Colonel  answered.  'I  am  content 
to  think  that  for  some  time  to  come  I  have  transferred  your 
operations,  gentlemen,  to  a  sphere  where  I  am  not  con- 
cerned for  the  lives  of  the  people." 

"There  are  things  more  precious  than  lives,"  the  Bishop 
said. 

"I  admit  it.  More  by  token  I  'm  blaming  you  little  — 
only  you  see,  sir,  I  differ.     That  is  all." 

With  that  Colonel  Sullivan  bowed,  and  left  the  cabin, 
and  The  McMurrough,  who  had  listened  to  the  colloquy 
with  the  air  of  a  whipped  hound,  slunk  after  him. 
On  deck  the  Colonel  and  Augustin  talked  apart  for 
a  moment,  then  the  former  signed  to  the  young 
man  to  go  down  into  the  boat,  which  lay  alongside 
with  a  couple  of  men  at  the  oars,  and  Bale  seated  in  the 
stern-sheets. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  minute  or  two  Colonel  John 
joined  him,  and  the  rowers  pushed  off,  while  Augustin 
and  the  crew  leant  over  the  rail  to  see  them  go,  and 
to  send  after  them  a  torrent  of  voluble  good  wishes, 
A  very  few  strokes  of  the  oars  brought  the  passengers  to 
land. 

Bale  stayed  to  exchange  a  few  words  with  the  seamen, 
while  Colonel  John  and  The  McMurrough  set  off  along 
the  beach.  And  astonishment  filled  the  young  man,  and 
grew  as  they  walked.  Did  Colonel  John,  after  all  that  had 
happened,  mean  to  return  to  Morristown?     to  establish 


THE    COLONEL'S   TERMS        187 

himself  calmly  —  he,  alone  —  in  the  midst  of  the  con- 
spirators whose  leaders  he  had  removed  ? 

It  seemed  incredible!  For  though  he,  James  McMur- 
rough,  thirst  for  revenge  as  he  might,  was  muzzled  by  his 
oath,  what  of  the  others  ? 

Still  the  Colonel  walked  on  by  his  side.  And  now  they 
were  in  sight  of  Skull  —  of  the  old  tower  and  the  house  by 
the  jetty,  looming  large  through  the  dripping  mist.  At 
last  Colonel  John  spoke. 

"  It  was  fortunate  that  I  made  my  will  as  I  came  through 
Paris,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FEMINA  FURENS 

COLONEL  JOHN  had  run  little  risk  of  being 
wrong  in  taking  for  granted  that  the  meeting  at 
the  CarraghaHn, mysteriously  robbed  of  the  chiefs 
from  over-seas,  would  disperse;  either  amid  the  peals  of 
Homeric  laughter  that  in  Ireland  greet  a  monster  jest,  or, 
in  sadder  mood,  cursing  the  detested  Saxon  for  one  more 
added  to  the  many  wrongs  of  a  downtrodden  land. 

Had  Flavia  escaped,  her  courage  and  enthusiasm  might 
have  supported  the  spirits  of  the  assemblage  and  kept  it 
together.  But  Uncle  Ulick  had  not  the  force  to  do  this: 
much  less  had  old  Timothy  Burke  or  Sir  Donny. 

Their  views  were  more  singular  than  cheerful. 

"Very  like,"  Sir  Donny  said,  with  a  fallen  under-lip, 
"the  ould  earth's  opened  her  mouth  and  swallowed  them. 
She  's  tired,  small  blame  to  her,  with  all  the  heretics  bur- 
dening her  and  tormenting  her." 

"Whisht,  man!"  the  other  answered.  "Be  easy; 
you  're  forgetting  one  's  a  bishop.  Small  chance  of  the 
devil's  tackling  him,  and  like  enough  the  holy  water  and 
all  ready  to  his  hand!" 

"Then  I  'm  not  knowing  what  it  is,"  the  first 
pronounced  hopelessly. 

X88 


FEMINAFURENS  1S9 

"There  you  speak  truth,  Sir  Donny,"  Tim  Burke 
answered.  "Is  it  they  can  be  losing  tlieir  way  in  the  least 
taste  of  fog  there  is,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"And  the  young  hidy  knowing  the  path,  so  that  she  'd 
be  walking  it  blindfold  in  the  dark!" 

"I  'm  fearing,  then,  it  will  be  the  garr'son  from  Tralee," 
was  Uncle  Ulick's  contribution.  "The  saints  be  between 
us  and  them,  and  grant  we  '11  not  be  seeing  more  of  them 
than  we  like,  and  sooner!" 

"Amen  to  that  same!"  replied  old  Timothy  Burke,  with 
an  uneasy  look  behind  him. 

There  was  nothing  comforting  in  this.  The  messengers 
sent  to  learn  why  the  expected  party  did  not  arrive  had  as 
little  cheer  to  give;  they  could  learn  nothing.  An  hour 
went  by,  a  second  and  part  of  a  third ;  messengers  departed 
and  came,  and  presently  something  like  the  truth  got 
abroad.  Still  the  greater  part  of  the  assemblage,  with 
Irish  patience,  remained  seated  in  ranks  on  the  slopes  of 
the  hills,  the  women  with  their  drugget  shawls  drawn  over 
their  heads,  the  men  with  their  frieze  coats  hanging  loose 
about  them. 

But  a  time  came,  about  high  noon,  when  the  assemblage 
—  and  the  fog  —  beran  at  last  to  melt.  Sir  Donnv  was 
gone,  and  old  Tim  Burke  of  Maamtrasna.  They  had 
slipped  homeward,  by  little-known  tracks  across  the  peat 
hags ;  and,  the  spirit  all  gone  out  of  them,  had  turned  their 
minds  to  oaths  and  alibis.  They  had  been  in  trouble 
before,  and  were  taken  to  know;  and  their  departure 
sapped  the  O'Beirnes'  resolution,  whose  uneasy  faces  as 


190  THEWILDGEESE 

they  talked  together  spread  the  contagion.  An  hour  after 
Sir  Donny  had  shpped  away,  the  movement  which  might 
have  meant  so  much  to  so  many  was  spent.  The  slopes 
about  Carraghalin  had  returned  to  their  wonted  solitude; 
where  hundreds  had  sat  a  short  hour  before  the  eagle 
hovered,  the  fox  turned  his  head  and  scented  the  wind. 

Doubtless,  in  the  minds  of  some,  a  secret  thankfulness 
that,  after  all,  they  were  not  required  to  take  the  leap, 
relieved  the  disappointment.  They  were  well  out  of  an 
ugly  scrape.  Well  clear  of  the  shadow  of  the  gallows  — 
always  supposing  that  no  informer  appeared.  It  might 
even  be  the  hand  of  Providence,  that  had  removed  their 
leaders,  and  held  them  back.  They  might  think  them- 
selves happy  to  be  quit  of  it  for  the  fright. 

But  there  was  one  who  found  no  such  consolation; 
to  whom  the  issue  was  pure  loss,  a  shameful  defeat,  the 
end  of  hopes,  the  defeat  of  prayers  that  had  never  risen  to 
heaven  more  purely  than  that  morning. 

Flavia  sat  with  her  eyes  on  the  dead  peat  that  cumbered 
the  hearth,  and  in  a  stupor  of  misery  refused  to  be  com- 
forted. Of  her  plans,  of  her  devotion,  of  her  lofty  resolves, 
this  was  the  result.  She  had  aspired,  honestly  and  earn- 
estly, for  her  race  downtrodden  and  her  faith  despised, 
and  this  was  the  bitter  fruit.  Nor  was  it  only  the  girl's 
devotion  to  her  country  and  to  her  faith  that  lay  sore 
wounded:  her  vanity  suffered,  and  perhaps  more  keenly. 

The  enterprise  that  was  to  have  glorified  the  name  of 
McMurrough,  that  was  to  have  raised  that  fallen  race, 
that  was  to  have  made  that  distant  province  blessed  among 


FEMINAFURENS  191 

the  provinces  of  Ireland,  had  come  to  an  end,  derisive  and 
contemptible,  before  it  was  born.  Her  spirit,  fearing 
before  all  things  ridicule,  dashed  itself  against  the  dreadful 
fact.  She  could  hardly  believe  that  all  was  over.  She 
could  hardly  realize  that  the  cup  was  no  longer  at  her  lip. 

But  she  looked  from  the  window;  and,  lo,  the  courtyard 
which  had  hummed  and  seethed  was  dead  and  silent.  In 
one  corner  a  knot  of  men  were  carrying  out  the  arms  and 
the  powder,  and  were  preparing  to  bury  them.  In 
another,  a  woman  —  it  was  Sullivan  Og's  widow  —  sat 
weeping. 

"You  must  kill  him!"  she  cried,  with  livid  cheeks  and 
blazing  eyes.     "If  you  do  not,  I  will!" 

Uncle  Ulick,  who  beyond  doubt  was  one  of  those  who 
felt  more  relief  than  disappointment,  stretched  his  legs 
uneasily.  He  longed  to  comfort  her,  but  he  did  not 
know  what  to  say. 

"You  must  kill  him!"  she  repeated. 

"We  '11  talk  of  that,"  he  said,  "when  we  see  him." 

"You  must  kill  him!"  the  girl  repeated  passionately. 
"Or  I  will!  If  you  are  a  man,  if  you  are  an  Irishman,  if 
you  are  a  Sullivan,  kill  him,  the  shame  of  your  race!  Or 
I  will!" 

"If  he  had  been  on  our  side,"  Uncle  Ulick  answered 
soberly,  "instead  of  against  us,  I  'm  thinking  we  should 
have  done  better." 

The  girl  drew  in  her  breath  sharply,  pierced  to  the 
quick  by  the  thought.  Simultaneously  the  big  man 
started,  but  for  another  reason.     His  eyes  were  on  the 


192  THEWILDGEESE 

window,  and  they  saw  a  sight  which  his  mind  declined 
to  beheve.  Two  men  had  entered  the  courtyard  —  had 
entered  with  astonishing,  with  petrifying  nonchalance, 
as  it  seemed  to  him.  For  the  first  was  Colonel 
Sullivan.  The  second  —  but  the  second  slunk  at 
the  heels  of  the  first  with  a  hang-dog  air  —  was  James 
McMurrough. 

Fortunately  Flavia,  whose  eyes  were  glooming  on  the 
cold  hearth,  had  her  back  to  the  casement.  Uncle  Ulick 
rose.  His  thoughts  came  with  a  shock  against  the  possi- 
bility that  Colonel  John  had  the  garrison  of  Tralee  at  his 
back.  But,  although  The  McMurrough  had  all  the 
appearance  of  a  prisoner,  Ulick  thrust  away  the  notion  as 
soon  as  it  occurred.  To  clear  his  mind,  he  looked  to  see 
how  the  men  engaged  in  getting  out  the  powder  were  tak- 
ing it.  They  had  ceased  to  work,  and  were  staring  with 
all  their  eyes.  Something  in  their  bearing  told  Uncle  Ulick 
that  the  notion  which  had  occurred  to  him  had  occurred 
to  them,  and  that  they  were  prepared  to  run  at  the  least 
alarm. 

"His  blood  be  on  his  own  head!"  he  muttered.  But 
he  did  not  say  it  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who  meant  it. 

"Amen!"  she  cried.  The  words  fell  in  with  her 
thoughts. 

By  this  time  Colonel  Sullivan  was  within  four  paces  of 
the  door.  In  a  handturn  he  would  be  in  the  room,  he 
would  be  actually  in  the  girl's  presence  —  and  Uncle  Ulick 
shrank  from  the  scene  which  must  follow.  Colonel  John 
was,  indeed,  and  plainly,  running  on  his  fate.     Already 


F  E  M I  N  A   F  U  R  E  N  S  193 

the  O'Beirnes,  awakening  from  their  trance  of  astonish- 
ment, were  closing  in  behind  him  with  grim  faces;  and 
short  of  the  garrison  of  Tralee  the  big  man  saw  no  help  for 
him;  well-nigh  —  so  strongly  did  even  he  feel  on  the 
matter  —  he  desired  none.  But  Flavia  must  have  no  part 
in  it.     Let  the  girl  be  clear  of  it! 

The  big  man  took  two  steps  to  the  door,  opened  it,  slipped 
through,  and  closed  it  behind  him.  His  breast  as  good  as 
touched  that  of  Colonel  Sullivan,  who  was  on  the  thres- 
hold. Behind  the  Colonel  was  James  McMurrough; 
behind  James  were  the  two  O'Beirnes  and  two  others,  of 
whose  object,  as  they  cut  off  the  Colonel's  retreat,  no  man 
who  saw  their  faces  could  doubt. 

For  once,  in  view  of  the  worse  things  that  might  happen 
in  the  house,  Ulick  was  firm.  "You  can't  come  in!"  he 
said,  his  face  pale  and  frowning.  He  had  no  word  of 
greeting  for  the  Colonel.  "You  can't  come  in!"  he 
repeated,  staring  straight  at  him. 

The  Colonel  turned  and  saw  the  four  men  with  arms  in 
their  hands  spreading  out  behind  him.  He  understood. 
"You  had  better  let  me  in,"  he  said  gently.  "James 
will  talk  to  them." 

"James " 

"You  had  better  speak  to  them,"  Colonel  John 
continued,  addressing  his  companion.  "And  you, 
Ulick " 

"You  can't  come  in,"  Ulick  repeated  grimly. 

James  McMurrough  interposed  in  his  harshest  tone. 
"An  end  to  this!"  he  cried.     "Who  are  you  to  bar  the 


194  THEWILDGEESE 

door,  Ulick!  And  you,  Phelim  and  Morty,  be  easy  a 
minute  till  you  hear  me  speak." 

Ulick  still  barred  the  way.  "James,"  he  said,  in  a 
voice  little  above  a  whisper,  "you  don't  know " 

"I  know  enough!"  The  McMurrough  answered 
violently.  It  went  sadly  against  the  grain  with  him  to 
shield  his  enemy,  but  so  it  must  be.  "  Curse  you,  let  him 
in!"  he  continued,  fiercely;  they  were  making  his  task 
more  hard  for  him.  "And  have  a  care  of  him,"  he  added 
anxiously.     "Do  you  hear?     Have  a  care  of  him!" 

Uncle  Ulick  made  a  last  feeble  attempt.  "  But  Flavia," 
he  said.     "Flavia  is  there  and " 

"Curse  the  girl!"  James  answered.  "Get  out  of  the 
road  and  let  the  man  in!     Is  this  my  house  or  yours?" 

Ulick  yielded,  as  he  had  yielded  so  often  before.  He 
stood  aside.     Colonel  John  opened  the  door  and  entered. 

The  rest  happened  so  quickly  that  no  movement  on  his 
part  could  have  saved  him.  Flavia  had  heard  their  voices 
in  altercation  —  it  might  be  half  a  minute,  it  might  be  a 
few  seconds  before.  She  had  risen  to  her  feet,  she  had 
recognized  the  voice  of  one  of  the  speakers  —  he  had 
spoken  once  only,  but  that  was  enough  —  she  had  snatched 
up  the  naked  sword  that  since  the  previous  morning  had 
leaned  in  the  chimney  corner.  As  Colonel  John  crossed 
the  threshold  —  oh,  dastardly  audacity,  oh,  insolence 
incredible,  that  in  the  hour  of  his  triumph  he  should  soil 
that  threshold !  —  she  lunged  with  all  the  force  of  her 
strong  young  arm  at  his  heart. 

With  such  violence  that  the  hilt  struck  his  breast  and 


<iffi 


SHE      LUNGED      WITH       ALL     THE      FORCE      OF      HER 
STRONG    YOUNG    ARM  " 


FEMINAFURENS  195 

hurled  him  bodily  against  the  doorpost,  while  the  blade 
broke  off,  shivered  by  contact  with  the  hard  wood. 

Uncle  Ulick  uttered  a  cry  of  horror.  "You  have  killed 
him!" 

"His  blood " 

She  stopped  on  the  word.  For  instead  of  falling  Colonel 
John  was  regaining  his  balance.  "Flavia!"  he  cried  — 
the  blade  had  passed  through  his  coat,  missing  his  breast 
by  a  bare  half-inch.  "Flavia,  hold!  Listen!  Listen  a 
moment!" 

But  in  a  frenzy  of  rage,  as  soon  as  she  saw  that  her  blow 
had  failed,  she  struck  at  him  with  the  hilt  and  the  ragged 
blade  that  remained  —  struck  at  his  face,  struck  at  his 
breast,  with  cries  of  fury  almost  animal.  "Wretch! 
wretch!"  she  cried  —  "die!  If  they  are  cowards,  I  am 
not!     Die!" 

The  scene  was  atrocious,  and  Uncle  Ulick,  staring  open- 
mouthed,  gave  no  help.  But  Colonel  Sullivan  mastered 
her  wrists,  though  not  until  he  had  sustained  a  long  bleed- 
ing cut  on  the  jaw.  Even  then,  though  fettered,  and 
though  he  had  forced  her  to  drop  the  weapon,  she  struggled 
desperately  with  him  —  as  she  had  struggled  when  he 
carried  her  through  the  mist.  "Kill  him!  kill  him!"  she 
shrieked.     "Help!  help!" 

The  men  would  have  killed  him  twice  and  thrice  if  The 
McMurrough,  with  voice  and  blade  and  frantic  impreca- 
tions and  the  interposition  of  his  own  body,  had  not  kept 
the  O'Beirnes  and  the  others  at  bay  —  explaining,  depre- 
cating, praying,  cursing,  all  in  a  breath.     Twice  a  blow 


196  THEWILDGEESE 

was  struck  at  the  Colonel  through  the  doorway,  but  one 
fell  short  and  the  other  James  McMurrough  parried.  For 
a  moment  the  peril  was  of  the  greatest:  the  girl's  cries, 
the  sight  of  her  struggling  in  Colonel  John's  grip,  wrought 
the  men  almost  beyond  James's  holding.  Then  the 
strength  went  out  of  her  suddenly,  she  ceased  to  fight,  and 
but  for  Colonel  Sullivan's  grasp  she  would  have  fallen  her 
length  on  the  floor. 

He  knew  that  she  was  harmless  then,  and  he  thrust 
her  into  the  nearest  chair.  He  kicked  the  broken  sword 
under  the  table,  stanched  the  blood  that  trickled  fast 
from  his  cheek;  last  of  all,  he  looked  at  the  men  who  were 
contending  with  James  in  the  doorway. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  breathing  a  little  quickly,  but 
in  no  other  way  betraying  the  strait  through  which  he  had 
passed,  "I  shall  not  run  away.  I  shall  be  here  to  answer 
you  to-morrow,  as  fully  as  to-day.  In  the  meantime  I 
beg  to  suggest"  —  again  he  raised  the  handkerchief  to 
his  cheek  and  stanched  the  blood  —  "  that  you  retire  now, 
and  hear  what  The  McMurrough  has  to  say  to  you:  the 
more  as  the  cases  and  the  arms  I  see  in  the  courtyard  lie 
obnoxious  to  discovery  and  expose  all  to  risk  while  they 
remain  so." 

His  surprising  coolness  did  more  to  check  them  than  The 
McMurrough's  efforts.  They  gaped  at  him  in  wonder. 
Then  one  uttered  an   imprecation. 

"  The  McMurrough  will  explain  if  you  will  go  with  him," 
Colonel  John  answered  patiently.  "I  say  again,  gentle- 
men, I  shall  not  run  away." 


FEMINAFURENS  197 


"If  you  mean  her  any  harm " 

"I  mean  her  no  harm." 

"Are  you  alone?" 

"I  am  alone." 

So  far  Morty.     But  Phelim  O'Beirne  was  not  quite 

satisfied.     "If   a   hair   of   her   head   be   hurt "    he 

growled,  pushing  himself  forward,  "I  tell  you,  sir " 

"And  I  tell  you!"  James  McMurrough  retorted,  repel- 
ling him.  "  What  are  the  hairs  of  her  head  to  you,  Phelim 
O'Beirne  ?  Am  I  not  him  that 's  her  brother  ?  A  truce 
to  your  prating,  curse  you,  and  be  coming  with  me.  I 
understand  him,  and  that  is  enough! " 

"But  his  reverence " 

"  His  reverence  is  as  safe  as  you  or  me! "  James  retorted. 
"  If  it  were  not  so,  are  you  thinking  I  'd  be  here  ?  Fie  on 
you!"  he  went  on,  pushing  Phelim  through  the  door; 
"you  are  good  at  the  talking  now,  when  it 's  little  good 
it  will  be  doing.  But  where  were  you  this  morning  when 
a  good  blow  might  have  saved  all?" 

"Could  I  be  helping  it,  when ?" 

The  voices  passed  away,  still  wrangling  across  the  court- 
yard. Uncle  Ulick  stepped  to  the  door  and  closed  it. 
Then  he  turned  and  spoke  his  mind. 

"You  were  wrong  to  come  back,  John  Sullivan,"  he 
said,  the  hardness  of  his  tone  bearing  witness  to  his  horror 
of  what  had  happened.  "  It  is  no  thanks  to  you  that  your 
blood  is  not  on  the  girl's  hands,  and  the  floor  of  your 
grandfather's  house!  You  're  a  bold  man,  I  allow.  But 
the  fox  made  too  free  with  the  window  at  last,  and,  take  my 


198  THEWILDGEESE 

word  for  it,  there  are  a  score  of  men,  whose  hands  are  surer 
than  this  child's,  who  will  not  rest  till  they  have  had  your 
life !  Be  bid,  and  go,  then.  Be  bid,  and  go  while  the  breath 
is  firm  in  you!" 

Colonel  John  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  and  when  he 
did  answer,  it  was  with  a  severity  that  overbore  Ulick's 
anger.  "If  the  breath  be  firm  in  those  whom  you,  Ulick 
Sullivan,"  he  said,  "and  your  fellows  would  have  duped, 
it  is  enough  for  me!  For  myself,  whom  should  I  fear? 
The  plotters  whose  childish  plans  were  not  proof  against 
the  simplest  stratagem?  The  conspirators "  ^  his  tone 
grew  more  cutting  in  its  scorn  —  "who  took  it  in  hand  to 
pull  down  a  throne  and  were  routed  by  a  sergeant's 
guard  ?  The  poor  puppets  who  played  at  a  game  too  high 
for  them,  and  danced  to  others'  piping?  Shall  I  fear 
them,"  he  continued,  the  tail  of  his  eye  on  the  girl,  who, 
sitting  low  in  her  chair,  writhed  involuntarily  under  his 
words  —  "poor  tools,  poor  creatures,  only  a  little  less 
ignorant,  only  a  little  more  guilty  than  the  clods  they  would 
have  led  to  the  crows  or  the  hangman  ?  Is  it  these  I  am 
to  flee  from  ?  Ulick  Sullivan !  I  am  not  the  man  to  flee 
from  shadows!" 

His  tone,  his  manner,  which  were  intended  to  open  the 
girl's  eyes,  but  did  in  fact  increase  her  resentment  —  hurt 
even  Uncle  Ulick's  pride.  "Whisht,  man,"  he  said, 
bitterly.  "  It 's  plain  you  're  thinking  you  're  master 
here!" 

"I  am,"  Colonel  John  replied  sternly.  "I  am,  and  I 
intend  to  be.     Nor  a  day  too  soon!     Where  all  are   chil- 


FEMINAFURENS  199 

dren,  there  is  need  of  a  master!  And  for  my  cousin,  let  her 
hear  the  truth  for  once!  Let  her  know  what  men  who 
have  seen  the  world  think  of  the  visions,  from  which  she 
would  have  awakened  in  a  dungeon,  and  her  fellow-dupes 
under  the  gibbet!  A  great  rising  for  a  great  cause,  if  it 
be  real,  man,  if  it  be  earnest,  if  it  be  based  on  forethought, 
heaven  knows  I  hold  it  a  fine  thing,  and  a  high  thing! 
But  the  rising  of  a  child  with  a  bladder  against  an  armed 
man,  a  rising  that  can  ruin  but  cannot  help,  I  know  not 
whether  to  call  it  more  silly  or  more  wicked!  Man,  the 
devil  does  his  choicest  work  through  fools,  not  rogues! 
And,  for  certain,  he  never  found  fitter  instruments  than  at 
Morristown  yesterday." 

Uncle  Ulick  swore  impatiently.  "We  may  be  fools," 
be  growled.     "Yet  spare  the  girl!     Spare  the  girl!" 

"What?     Spare  her  the  truth?" 

"All!  Everything!"  Uncle  Ulick  cried,  with  unusual 
heat.     "Cannot  you  see  that  she  at  least  meant  well!" 

"Such  do  the  most  ill,"  Colonel  John  retorted,  with 
sententious  severity.  "God  forgive  them  —  and  her!" 
He  paused  for  a  moment  and  then,  in  a  lighter  tone,  he 
continued,  "As  I  do.  Only  there  must  be  an  end  of  this 
foolishness.  The  two  men  who  had  reason  in  their  wrong- 
doing are  beyond  seas.  The  McMurrough  is  not  so  mad 
as  to  act  without  them.  He"  —  with  a  faint  smile  —  "is 
not  implacable.  You,  Ulick,  are  not  of  the  stuff  of  whom 
martyrs  are  made.  But  the  two  young  men  outside"  — 
he  paused  as  if  he  reflected  —  "they  and  three  or  four 
others  are  —  what  my  cousin  now  listening  to  me  makes 


200  THEWILDGEESE 

them.  They  are  tow,  if  the  flame  be  brought  near  them. 
And  therefore  —  and  therefore,"  he  repeated  still  more 
slowly,  "I  have  spoken  the  truth  and  plainly.  To  this 
purpose,  that  there  may  be  an  end." 

Flavia  had  sat  at  first  with  closed  eyes,  in  a  state  next 
door  to  collapse,  her  head  inclined,  her  arms  drooping, 
as  if  at  any  moment  she  might  sink  to  the  floor.  But  in  the 
course  of  his  speaking  a  change  had  come  over  her.  The 
last  heavings  of  the  storm,  physical  and  mental,  still  shook 
her.  But  the  indomitable  youth  in  her,  and  the  spirit 
which  she  had  inherited  from  some  dead  forefather,  were 
not  to  be  long  gainsaid.  Slowly,  as  she  listened  her  colour 
had  returned,  her  face  grown  more  firm,  her  form  more 
stiff.  In  truth  Colonel  John  had  adopted  the  wrong 
course  with  her.  He  had  been  hard  —  knowing  men 
better  than  women  —  when  he  should  have  been  mild; 
he  had  browbeaten  where  he  should  have  forgiven.  And 
so  at  his  last  declaration,  "There  must  be  an  end,"  she 
rose  to  her  feet,  and  spoke.  And  speaking,  she  showed 
that  neither  the  failure  of  her  attempt  on  him,  nor  the 
bodily  struggle  with  him,  horribly  as  it  humiliated  her  in 
the  remembrance,  had  quelled  her  courage. 

"An  end!"  she  said,  in  a  voice  vibrating  with  emotion. 
"Yes,  but  it  will  be  an  end  for  you!  Children,  are  we? 
Better  that  than  be  so  old  before  our  time,  so  cold  of  heart 
and  cunning  of  head  that  there  is  naught  real  for  us  but 
that  we  touch  and  see,  nothing  high  for  us  but  that  our 
words  will  be  measuring,  nothing  worth  risk  but  that  we 
are  safe  to  gain!     Children,  are  we?"  she  continued,  with 


FEMINAFURENS  201 

deep  passion.  " But  at  least  we  believe!  At  least  we  own 
something  higher  than  ourselves  —  a  God,  a  Cause,  a 
Country !  At  least  we  have  not  bartered  all  —  all  three 
and  honour  for  a  pittance  of  pay,  fighting  alike  for  right  or 
wrong,  betraying  alike  the  right  and  wrong!  Children? 
May  be!  But,  God  be  thanked,  we  are  warm,  the  blood 
runs  in  us " 

"Flavia!" 

"I  say  the  blood  runs  in  us!"  she  repeated.  "And  if 
we  are  foolish,  we  are  wiser  yet  than  one"  —  she  looked 
at  him  with  a  strange  steadfastness  —  "who  in  his  wisdom 
thinks  that  a  traitor  can  walk  our  Irish  soil  unharmed, 
or  one  go  back  and  forth  in  safety  who  has  ruined  and 
shamed  us!  You  have  escaped  my  hand!  But  I  know 
that  all  your  boasted  wisdom  will  not  lengthen  your  life 
till  the  moon  wanes!" 

He  had  tried  to  interrupt  her  once  —  eagerly,  vividly, 
as  one  who  would  defend  himself.  He  answered  her  now 
after  another  fashion:  perhaps  he  had  learned  his  lesson. 
"If  God  wills,"  he  said  simply,  "it  will  be  as  you  say. 
And  the  road  will  lie  open  to  you.  Only  while  I  live, 
Flavia,  whether  I  love  this  Irish  soil  or  not,  or  my  country, 
or  my  honour,  the  storm  shall  not  break  here,  nor  the  house 
fall  from  which  we  spring!" 

"While  you  hve!"  she  repeated,  with  a  dreadful  smile. 
"I  tell  you,  I  tell  you,"  and  she  extended  her  hand  toward 
him,  "  the  winding-sheet  is  high  upon  your  breast,  and  the 
salt  dried  that  shall  lie  upon  your  heart." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  MARPLOT 

IF,  AFTER  that,  Colonel  Sullivan's  life  had  depended 
on  his  courage  or  the  vigilance  of  his  servant,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  Flavia's  prophecy  would  have  been  quickly 
fulfilled.  The  part  which  he  had  played  in  the  events  at 
the  Carraghalin  was  known  to  few;  but  the  hundred 
tongues  of  rumour  were  abroad,  carrying  as  many  versions, 
and  in  all  he  was  the  marplot.  His  traffic  with  the  Old 
Fox  had  spirited  away  the  holy  father  and  swept  off  also, 
probably  on  a  broomstick,  the  doughty  champion  whose 
sole  desire  it  was  to  lead  the  hosts  of  Ireland  to  victory. 
The  logical  consequence  was  certain.  That  the  man 
who  had  these  things  on  his  black  heretic  conscience  should 
continue  to  haunt  the  scene  of  his  crimes  and  lord  it  over 
those  whom  his  misdeeds  had  sullied,  was  to  the  common 
mind  unthinkable.  To  every  potato-setter  who,  out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eye,  watched  his  passage,  to  every  beggar 
by  the  road,  this  was  plain  and  known,  and  the  man  already 
as  the  dead.  If  the  cotters  by  the  lakeside  were  not  men 
enough,  was  there  not  Roaring  Andy's  band  in  the  hills, 
who  would  cut  any  man's  throat  for  a  silver  doubloon,, 
and  a  heretic's  for  the  "trate  it  would  be,  and  sorra  a  bit 
of  pay  at  all,  the  good  men!" 

202 


THE  MARPLOT  203 

Beyond  doubt  the  Colonel's  nerve,  which  enabled  him 
to  take  his  place  as  if  nothing  threatened  him,  went  for 
something;  and  for  something  the  sinister  prestige  which 
the  disappearance  of  O'Sullivan  Og  and  his  whole  party 
cast  about  him.  The  means  by  which  the  two  prisoners, 
in  face  of  odds  so  great,  had  destroyed  their  captors,  were 
still  a  secret;  but  the  Irish  are  ever  open  to  superstitious 
beliefs,  and  the  man  who  poured  death  as  it  were  from  a 
horn,  went  his  way  shrouded  in  a  gloomy  fame  that  might 
provoke  the  bold,  but  kept  the  timid  at  bay. 

Before  night  it  was  known  that  the  Colonel  might  be 
shot  from  behind  with  a  silver  bullet;  or  stabbed,  if  a 
man  were  bold  enough,  with  a  cross-handled  knife,  blessed 
and  sprinkled.  But  woe  to  him  whose  aim  proved  faulty 
or  his  hand  uncertain! 

But  this  reputation  alone,  seeing  that  reckless  spirits 
were  not  wanting,  would  have  availed  him  little  if  the  pro- 
tection of  The  McMurrough  had  not  been  cast  over  him. 
Why  it  was  cast  over  him  men  scarcely  dared  to  guess.  It 
was  a  dark  thing  into  which  it  were  ill  to  peer  too  closely. 
But  the  fact  was  certain  that  the  anxiety  of  the  young  man 
that  the  Colonel  might  meet  with  no  hurt  was  plain  and 
notorious,  a  thing  observed  stealthily  and  with  wonder. 

Did  Colonel  John  saunter  across  the  court  to  look  on  the 
lake  ?  The  McMurrough  was  at  his  shoulder  in  a  twink- 
ling, and  thence,  with  a  haggard  eye,  searched  the  furze- 
bush  for  the  glint  of  a  gun-barrel,  and  the  angle  of  the  wall 
for  a  lurking  foe.  It  was  the  same  if  the  Colonel  fared 
as  far  as  the  ruined  tower,  or  stretched  his  legs  on  the  road 


204  THEWILDGEESE 

by  the  shore.  The  McMurrough  could  not  be  too  near 
him,  walked  with  his  hand  on  his  arm,  cast  from  time  to 
time  vigilant  looks  to  the  rear.  A  score  of  times  between 
rising  and  sleeping  Colonel  John  smiled  at  the  care  that 
forewent  his  steps  and  covered  his  retreat;  nor  perhaps 
had  the  contempt  in  which  he  held  James  McMurrough 
ever  reached  a  higher  pitch  than  while  he  thus  stood  from 
hour  to  hour  indebted  to  that  young  man  for  his  life. 

What  Uncle  Ulick,  if  he  held  the  key  to  the  matter, 
thought  of  it,  did  not  appear;  nor  was  Colonel  John 
overcurious  to  know.  But  what  Flavia  thought  of  the 
position  was  a  point  which  aroused  his  most  lively  curi- 
osity. He  gave  her  credit  for  feelings  so  deep  and  for  a 
nature  so  downright,  that  time-serving  or  paltering  were 
the  last  faults  he  looked  to  find  in  her.  He  could  hardly 
believe  that  she  would  consent  to  sit  at  meat  with  him  after 
what  had  happened ;  and  possibly  —  for  men  are  strange, 
and  the  motives  of  the  best  are  mixed  —  a  desire  to  see 
how  she  would  bear  herself  in  the  circumstances  had 
something  to  do  with  the  course  he  was  taking. 

That  she  consented  to  the  plan  was  soon  made  clear. 
She  even  took  part  in  it.  James  could  not  be  always  at 
his  elbow.  The  young  man  must  sometimes  retire. 
When  this  happened,  the  girl  took  her  brother's  place, 
stooped  to  dog  the  Colonel's  footsteps,  and  for  a  day  or 
two  cast  the  mantle  of  her  presence  over  the  man  she 
hated. 

But  stoop  as  she  might,  she  never  for  a  moment  stooped 
to  mask  her  hate.     In  her  incomings  and  her  outgoings, 


THE  MARPLOT  205 

in  her  risings-up  and  at  table  with  him,  every  movement 
of  her  body,  the  carriage  of  her  head,  the  glance  of  her  eye, 
showed  that  she  despised  him;  that  she  who  now  suffered 
him  was  the  same  woman  who  had  struck  at  his  life,  and, 
failing,  repented  only  the  failure. 

For  her  brother's  sake  she  was  willing  to  do  this,  though 
she  abhorred  it;  and  though  every  time  that  she  broke 
bread  with  the  intruder,  met  his  eyes,  or  breathed  the  air 
that  he  breathed,  she  told  herself  that  it  was  intolerable, 
that  it  must  end. 

Once  or  twice,  feeling  the  humiliation  more  than  she 
could  bear,  she  declared  to  her  brother  that  the  man  must 
go.  "Let  him  go!"  she  cried,  in  uncontrollable  excite- 
ment.    "Let  him  go!" 

"But  he  will  not  be  going,  Flawy." 

"He  must  go!"  she  replied. 

"And  Morristown  his?"  James  would  answer.  "Ye 
are  forgetting!  Over  and  above  that,  he  's  not  one  to  do 
my  bidding,  nor  yours ! " 

That  was  true.  Pie  would  not  go;  he  persisted  in 
remaining  and  being  master.  But  it  was  not  there  the 
difficulty  lay.  If  he  had  not  made  a  will  before  he  came, 
a  will  that  doubtless  set  the  property  of  the  family  forever 
beyond  James's  reach,  the  thing  had  been  simple  and 
Colonel  John's  shrift  had  been  short.  But  now,  to  rid  the 
earth  of  him  was  to  place  the  power  in  the  hands  of  a 
stranger,  an  alien,  for  whom  the  ties  of  family  and  honour 
would  have  no  stringency.  True,  the  law  was  weak  in 
Kerry.     A  writ  was  one  thing,  and  possession  another 


206  THEWILDGEESE 

A  bold  man  might  keep  the  forces  of  law  at  bay  for  a  time ; 
but  James  McMurrough,  notwithstanding  the  folly  into 
which  he  had  been  led,  was  no  desperado.  He  had  no 
desire  to  live  with  a  rope  round  his  neck,  to  flee  to  the 
bog  on  the  least  alarm,  and,  in  the  issue,  to  give  his  name 
to  an  Irish  Glencoe. 

A  position  it  had  been  hard  to  conceive  more  humiliat- 
ing to  a  proud  and  untamed  spirit  such  as  Flavia's.  The 
McMurrough  found  little  difficulty  in  subduing  his  temper 
to  his  interests,  though  now  and  again  his  churlishness 
broke  out.  For  Uncle  Ulick,  his  habit  was  to  be  easy  and 
to  bid  others  be  easy;  the  dawn  and  dark  of  a  day  recon- 
ciled him  to  most  things.  The  O'Beirnes,  sullen  and 
distrustful,  were  still  glad  to  escape  present  peril.  Look- 
ing for  a  better  time  to  come,  they  helped  to  shield  the 
common  enemy,  supposed  it  policy,  and  felt  no  shame. 
Flavia  alone,  in  presence  of  the  man  who  had  announced 
that  he  meant  to  be  master,  writhed  in  helpless  revolt, 
swore  that  he  should  never  be  her  master,  swore  that  who- 
ever bowed  her  head  she  never  would. 

And  Colonel  Sullivan,  seated,  apparently  at  his  ease,  on 
the  steep  lap  of  danger,  found  his  thoughts  dwelling  on  the 
one  untamable  person,  on  the  one  enemy  who  would  not 
stoop,  and  whose  submission  seemed  valuable.  The 
others  took  up  the  positions  he  assigned  to  them,  gave 
him  lip-service,  pretended  that  they  were  as  they  had  been 
and  he  as  he  had  been.     She  did  not;   she  would  not. 

Presently  he  discovered  with  surprise  that  her  attitude 
rendered  him  unhappy.     Secure  in  his  sense  of  right,  cer- 


THE  MARPLOT  207 

tain  that  he  was  acting  for  the  best,  he  should  have  been 
indifferent.     But  he  was  not  indifferent. 

Meantime,  she  beheved  that  there  was  no  length  to 
which  she  would  not  go  against  him;  she  fancied  that  there 
was  no  weapon  which  she  would  not  stoop  to  pick  up  if  it 
would  hurt  him.  And  presently  she  was  tried.  A  week 
had  passed  since  the  great  fiasco.  Again  it  was  the  eve  of 
Sunday,  and  in  the  usual  course  of  things  a  priest  would 
appear  to  celebrate  mass  on  the  following  day.  This  risk 
James  was  now  unwilling  to  run.  His  fears  painted  that 
as  dangerous  which  had  been  done  safely  Sunday  by  Sun- 
day for  years;  and  in  a  hang-dog,  hesitating  way,  he  let 
Flavia  know  his  doubts. 

"Devil  take  me  if  I  think  he  '11  suffer  it!"  he  said,  kick- 
ing up  the  turf  with  his  toe.  They  were  standing  together 
by  the  waterside,  Flavia  rebelling  against  the  consciousness 
that  it  was  only  outside  their  own  walls  that  they  could  talk 
freely.  "May  be,"  he  continued,  "it  will  be  best  to  let 
Father  O'Hara  know  —  to  let  be  for  a  week  or  two." 

The  girl  turned  upon  him,  in  passionate  reprehension. 
"Why?"  she  cried,  "Why?" 

"  Why,  is  it  you  're  asking  ?  "  James  answered  sullenly. 
"Well,  isn't  he  master  for  the  time,  bad  luck  to  him! 
And  if  he  thinks  we  're  beginning  to  draw  the  boys  together 
he  '11  may  be  put  his  foot  down!  And  I  'd  rather  be  stop- 
ping it  myself,  just  for  a  week  or  two,  Flawy,  than  be 
bidden   by  him." 

"Never!"  she  cried. 

"But " 


208  THEWILDGEESE 

"Never!  Never!  Never!"  she  repeated, firmly.  "Let 
us  turn  our  back  on  our  King  by  all  means!  But  on  our 
God,  no!     Let  him  do  his  worst!" 

He  was  ashamed  to  persist,  and  he  took  another  line. 
"I  'm  thinking  of  O'Hara,"  he  said.  "It  '11  be  four  walls 
for  him,  or  worse,  if  he  's  taken." 

"There  's  no  one  will  be  taking  him,"  she  answered 
steadfastly. 

"But  if  he  is?" 

"I  'm  saying  there  's  no  one  will  be  taking  him." 

James  felt  himself  repulsed.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  was  silent.  Presently,  "Flawy,"  he  said  in  a  low 
tone,  "I  've  a  notion,  my  girl.  And  it  '11  serve,  I  'm  think- 
ing.    This  can't  be  lasting." 

She  looked  at  him  without  much  hope. 

"Well?"  she  said  coldly.  She  had  begun  to  find  him 
out. 

He  looked  at  her  cunningly.  "We  might  put  the  boot 
on  the  other  leg,"  he  said.  "He  's  for  informing.  But 
what  if  we  inform,  my  girl  ?  It 's  the  first  in  the  field  that 's 
believed.  He  's  his  tale  of  the  Spanish  ship,  and  you  know 
who.  But  what  if  we  tell  it  first,  and  say  that  he  came 
with  them  and  stayed  behind  to  get  us  to  move  ?  Who  's 
to  say  he  did  n't  land  from  the  Spaniard,  if  we  're  all  in  a 
tale  ?  And  faith,  he  's  no  friend  here  nor  one  that  will 
open  his  mouth  for  him.  A  word  at  Tralee  will  do  it 
and  Luke  Asgill  has  friends  there  that  will  be  glad  to  set 
the  ball  rolling  at  his  bidding.  Once  clapped  up  John 
Sullivan  may  squeal,  he  '11  not  be  the  one  to  be  believed, 


THE  MARPLOT  209 

but  those  that  put  him  there.  It  '11  be  no  more  than  to 
swear  an  information,  and  Luke  Asgill  will  do  the  rest." 

Flavia  shuddered.  "They  won't  take  his  life?"  she 
asked. 

James. frowned.  "That  would  not  suit  us  at  all,"  he 
said.  "Not  at  all!  We  could  do  that  for  ourselves. 
Faith,"  with  a  sudden  laugh,  "you  did  n't  lack  much  of 
doing  it,  Flawy!  No;  but  a  stone  box  and  a  ring  round 
his  leg,  and  four  walls  to  talk  to  —  until  such  time  as  we 
have  a  use  for  him,  would  be  mighty  convenient  for  every- 
body. He  'd  have  leisure  to  think  of  his  dear  relations,  and 
of  the  neat  way  he  outwitted  them,  the  clever  devil!  But 
for  taking  his  life  —  I  'm  seeing  my  way  there  too,"  with 
a  grin  —  "it  was  naming  his  dear  relations  made  me  think 
of  it.  They  'd  not  bear  to  be  informing  without  surety 
for  his  life,  to  be  sure!  No! "  with  a  chuckle.  "And  very 
creditable  to  them!" 

Flavia  stared  across  the  water.     She  was  very  pale. 

"We  '11  be  wanting  one  or  two  to  swear  to  it,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  the  rest  to  be  silent.  Sorra  a  bit  of  difficulty 
will  there  be  about  it!" 

"  But  if,"  she  said  slowly,  "  he  gets  the  first  word  ?  And 
tells  the  truth?" 

"The  truth?"  James  McMurrough  replied  scornfully. 
"The  truth  is  what  we  '11  make  it!  I  '11  see  to  that,  my 
jewel." 

She  shivered.     "  Still,"  she  said, "  it  will  not  be  truth." 

"What  matter?"  James  answered.  "It  will  cook  his 
goose.     Curse  him,"  he  continued  with  violence,  "what 


210  THEWILDGEESE 

right  had  he  to  come  here  and  thrust  himself  into  other 
folks'  affairs?" 

"I  could  have  killed  him,"  she  said.     "But " 

"  But  you  can't,"  he  rejoined.     "  And  you  know  why." 

"But  this" — she  continued  with  a  shudder,  "this  is 
different." 

"  What  will  you  be  after  ?  "  he  cried  impatiently.  "  You 
are  not  turning  sheep-hearted  at  this  time  of  day?" 

"I  am  not  sheep-hearted." 

"What  is  it  then,  my  girl?" 

"I  can't  do  this,"  she  said.  She  was  still  very  pale. 
Something  had  touched  her,  that  had  never  approached  her 
so  nearly  before. 

He  stared  at  her.     "But  he  '11  have  his  life,"  he  said. 

"It 's  not  that,"  she  answered  slowly.  "It  *s  the  way. 
I  can't!"  she  repeated.  "I've  tried,  and  I  can't!  It 
sickens  me." 

"And  he  's  to  do  what  he  likes  with  us  ?  "  James  cried. 

"No,  no!" 

"And  we  're  not  to  touch  him  without  our  gloves?" 

She  did  not  answer,  and  twice  her  brother  repeated  the 
taunt.  At  last,  "It's  too  vile!"  she  cried  passionately. 
"  It 's  too  horrible !  It 's  to  sink  to  what  he  is,  and  worse ! " 
Her  voice  trembled  with  the  intensity  of  her  feelings  — 
"Worse!"  she  repeated. 

To  relieve  his  feelings,  perhaps  to  hide  his  shame,  he 
cursed  his  enemy  anew.  And  "I  wish  I  had  never  told 
you!"  he  added  bitterly. 

"  It 's  too  late  now,"  she  replied. 


THE  MARPLOT  211 

"  Asgill  could  have  managed  it,  and  no  one  the  wiser." 

"I  believe  you!"  she  repHed  quickly.  "But  not  you! 
Don't  do  it,  James,"  she  repeated,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm  and  speaking  with  sudden  heat.  "Don't  you  do  it! 
Don't!" 

"And  we  're  to  let  the  worst  happen,"  he  retorted,  "and 
O'Hara  perhaps  be  seized " 

"God  forbid!" 

"That 's  rubbish!  And  this  man  be  seized,  and  that 
man,  as  he  pleases!  We  're  to  let  him  rule  over  us,  and 
we  're  to  be  good  boys  whatever  happens,  and  serve  King 
George  and  turn  Protestants,  every  man  of  us!" 

"  God  forbid!"  she  repeated  strenuously. 

"As  well  turn,"  he  retorted,  if  we  are  to  live  slaves  all 
our  days !  Cammock  was  right  when  he  said  that  he  would 
let  no  woman  knit  a  halter  for  his  throat!" 

She  did  not  ask  him  who  had  been  the  life  and  soul  of  the 
movement,  whose  enthusiasm  had  set  it  going,  and  whose 
steadfastness  maintained  it.  She  did  not  tell  him  that  the 
issue  was  a  hundred  times  more  grievous  to  her  than  to  him. 
Her  eyes  were  beginning  to  be  opened  to  his  failings;  but 
the  habit  of  giving  way  to  him  was  still  strong;  and  when, 
with  another  volley  of  harsh,  contemptuous  words,  he 
flung  away  from  her,  though  her  last  interjection  was  a 
prayer  to  him  to  refrain,  she  blamed  herself  rather  than 
him. 

Now  that  she  was  alone,  too,  the  priest's  safety  weighed 
on  her  mind.  If  Colonel  John  betrayed  him,  she  would 
never  forgive  herself.     Certainly  it  was  unlikely  he  would; 


212  THEWILDGEESE 

for  in  that  part  priests  moved  freely,  the  authorities  winked 
at  their  presence,  and  it  was  only  within  sight  of  the  walls 
of  Tralee  or  of  Galway  that  the  law  which  proscribed  them 
was  enforced.  But  her  experience  of  Colonel  Sullivan  — 
of  his  activity,  his  determination,  his  adroitness  —  made 
all  things  seem  possible.  He  had  been  firm  as  fate  in  the 
removal  of  the  Bishop  and  Cammock;  he  had  been  turned 
no  jot  from  his  purpose  by  her  prayers,  her  rage,  her 
ineffectual  struggles  —  she  sickened  at  the  remembrance 
of  that  moment.  He  was  capable  of  everything,  and  if  he 
thought  fit  —  but  at  that  point  her  eyes  alighted  on  a  man 
who  was  approaching  along  the  lake-road.  It  was  Father 
O'Hara  himself.  The  priest  was  advancing  as  calmly 
and  openly  as  if  no  law  made  his  presence  a  felony,  or  as 
if  no  Protestant  breathed  the  soft  Irish  air  for  a  dozen 
leagues  about. 

Her  brother's  words  had  shaken  Flavia's  nerves.  She 
was  courageous,  but  she  was  a  woman.  She  flew  to  meet 
the  priest,  and  with  every  step  his  peril  loomed  larger  before 
her  fluttered  spirits.  The  wretch  had  said  that  he  would  be 
master,  and  a  master  who  was  a  Protestant,  a  fanatic 

She  did  not  follow  the  thought  to  its  conclusion.  She 
waved  a  warning  even  before  she  reached  the  father. 
When  she  did,  "Father!"  she  cried  eagerly,  "you  must 
get  away,  and  come  back  after  dark!" 

The  good  man's  jaw  fell.  He  had  been  looking  forward 
to  good  cheer  and  a  good  bed,  to  a  rare  oasis  of  comfort 
in  his  squalid  life.  He  cast  a  wary  look  round  him. 
"What  has  happened,  my  daughter?"  he  asked. 


THE  MARPLOT  213 

"Colonel  Sullivan!"  Flavia  gasped.  "He  is  here  and 
he  will  certainly  give  you  up." 

"Colonel  Sullivan?" 

"Yes.  You  were  at  the  Carraghalin?  You  have 
heard  what  happened!     He  will  surely  give  you  up!" 

"Are  the  soldiers  here?"  the  priest  asked,  with  a 
blanched  face. 

"No,  but  he  is  here!  He  is  in  the  house,  and  may  come 
out  at  any  moment,"  Flavia  explained.  "Don't  you 
understand?" 

"Did  he  tell  you " 

"What?" 

"That  he  would  inform?" 

"No!"  Flavia  replied,  thinking  the  man  very  dull. 
"But  you  wouldn't  trust  him?" 

The  priest  looked  round  to  assure  himself  that  the 
landscape  held  no  overt  signs  of  danger.  Then  he  brought 
back  his  eyes  to  the  girl's  face,  and  he  stroked  his  thin, 
brown  cheek  reflectively.  He  recalled  the  scene  in  the 
bog,  Colonel  John's  courage,  and  his  thought  for  his  ser- 
vant. And  at  last,  "I  am  not  thinking."  he  said  coolly, 
"  that  he  will  betray  me.  I  am  sure  —  I  think  I  am 
sure,"  he  continued,  correcting  himself,  "  that  he  will  not. 
He  is  a  heretic,  but  he  is  a  good  man." 

Flavia's  cheek  flamed.  She  started  back.  "A  good 
man!"  she  cried  in  a  voice  audible  half  a  hundred  yards 
away. 

Father  O'Hara  looked  a  little  ashamed  of  himself;  but 
he  stood  by  his  guns.     "A  heretic,  of  course,"  he  said. 


214  THEWILDGEESE 

"  But,  I  'm  thinking,  a  good  man.  At  any  rate,  I  'm  not 
believing  that  he  will  inform  against  me." 

As  quickly  as  it  had  come,  the  colour  fled  from  Flavia's 
face,  and  left  it  cold  and  hard.  She  looked  at  the  priest 
as  she  had  never  looked  at  a  priest  of  her  Church  before. 
"You  must  take  your  own  course,  then,"  she  said.  And 
with  a  gesture  which  he  did  not  understand  she  turned 
from  him,  and  leaving  him,  puzzled  and  disconcerted,  she 
went  away  into  the  house. 

A  good  man!  Heaven  and  earth  and  the  sea  besides! 
A  good  man!    Father  O'Hara  was  a  fool  I 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  LIMIT 

IF  THERE  was  one  man  more  sorry  than  another 
that  the  Morristown  rising  had  been  nipped  in  the 
bud  it  was  Luke  Asgill.  He  had  honestly  tried  to 
turn  James  McMurrough  from  the  attempt,  though  he 
had  seen  that  the  faihire  of  the  plot  would  provide  his  one 
best  chance  of  winning  Flavia.  A  score  of  times  he  had 
pictured,  with  rapture,  the  inevitable  collapse.  In  visions 
he  had  seen  the  girl  turn  to  him  in  the  wreck  of  things  — 
it  might  be  to  save  her  brother's  life,  it  might  be  to  save  her 
tender  feet  from  the  stones  of  foreign  streets.  And  in  the 
same  dream  he  had  seen  himself  standing  by  her,  alone 
against  the  world;  as,  to  do  him  justice,  he  would  have 
stood,  no  matter  how  sharp  the  stress  or  great  the  cost. 

Keen  therefore  was  his  chagrin  when,  through  the 
underground  channels  which  were  in  his  power,  he  heard 
two  days  after  the  event,  and  in  distant  Tralee,  what  had 
happened.  In  a  moment,  not  only  was  the  opportunity 
to  which  he  looked  forward  vanished  below  the  horizon, 
but  news  still  less  welcome  was  whispered  in  his  ear.  The 
man  whom  he  had  distrusted  from  the  first  had  done  this. 
More,  the  man  was  still  at  Morristown,  if  not  honoured, 
protected,  and  if  not  openly  triumphant,  master  in  fact. 

215 


216  THEWILDGEESE 

Luke  Asgill  swore  horribly.  Colonel  Sullivan  had  got 
the  better  of  him  once  but  he  was  not  to  be  duped  again. 
He  examined  the  matter  on  many  sides  before  he  took 
horse  to  see  things  with  his  own  eyes.  Nor  did  he  alight 
at  Morristown  until  he  had  made  many  a  resolution  to  be 
on  his  guard. 

He  had  reason  to  call  these  to  mind  before  his  foot  was 
well  out  of  the  stirrup,  for  the  first  person  he  saw,  after  he 
had  bidden  his  groom  take  the  horses  to  the  stable,  was 
Colonel  Sullivan.  Asgill  had  time  to  scan  his  face  before 
they  met  in  the  courtyard,  and  he  judged  that  Colonel 
John's  triumph  did  not  go  very  deep.  He  was  looking 
graver,  sadder,  older,  finally  —  this  he  saw  as  they  saluted 
one  another  —  sterner. 

Asgill  stepped  aside  courteously,  meaning  to  go  by  him. 
But  the  Colonel  stepped  aside  also,  and  so  barred  his  way. 
"  Mr.  Asgill,"  he  said  —  and  there  was  something  of  the 
martinet  in  his  tone — "I  will  trouble  you  to  give  me  a 
word  apart." 

"A  word  apart?"  Asgill  answered.  He  was  taken 
aback,  and  do  what  he  could  the  Colonel's  grave  eyes 
discomposed  him.  "  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life.  Colonel. 
But  a  little  later,  by  your  leave." 

"I  think  now  were  more  convenient,  sir,"  the  Colonel 
answered,  "by  your  leave." 

"I  will  lay  my  cloak  in  the  house,  and  then " 

"It  will  be  more  convenient  to  keep  your  cloak,  I  'm 
thinking,"  the  Colonel  rejoined  with  dryness.  And  either 
because  of  the  meaning  in  his  voice  or  the  command  in  his 


THE    LIMIT  217 

eyes,  Asgill  gave  way  and  the  two  walked  gravely  and  step 
for  step  through  the  gateway. 

Outside  the  Colonel  beckoned  to  a  ragged  urchin  who 
was  playing  ducks  and  drakes  with  his  naked  toes.  "Go, 
after  Mr.  Asgill's  horses,"  he  said,  "and  bid  the  man 
bring  them  back.' 

"Colonel  Sullivan!" 

The  Colonel  did  not  heed  his  remonstrance.  "And 
follow  us !"  he  continued.  "  Are  you  hearing,  boy  ?  Go, 
then." 

"  Colonel  Sullivan,"  Asgill  repeated,  his  face  both  darker 
and  paler  —  for  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  other's 
meaning  —  "  I  'm  thinking  this  is  a  strange  liberty  you  're 
taking.  And  I  beg  to  say  I  don't  understand  the  meaning 
of  it." 

"You  wish  to  know  the  meaning  of  it?" 

"I  do." 

"It  means,  sir,"  Colonel  John  replied,  "that  the  sooner 
you  start  on  your  return  journey  the  better!" 

Asgill  stared.  "The  better  you  will  be  pleased,  you 
mean!"  he  said.     And  he  laughed  harshly. 

"The  better  it  will  be  for  you,  I  mean,"  Colonel  John 
answered. 

Asgill    flushed    darkly,    but   he    commanded    himself. 

"This  is  an  odd  tone,"  he  said.  "I  must  ask  you  to 
explain  yourself  further.  I  am  here  upon  the  invitation  of 
my  friend.  The  McMurrough " 

"This  is  not  his  house." 

Asgill  stared.     "  Do  you  mean " 


218  THEWILDGEESE 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  the  Colonel  answered.  "This  is 
not  his  house,  as  you  well  know." 

"But " 

"  It  is  mine,  and  I  do  not  propose  to  entertain  you,  Mr. 
Asgill,"  Colonel  John  continued.  "Is  that  sufficiently 
plain?" 

The  glove  was  down.  The  two  men  looked  at  each 
other.  Asgill  was  at  a  disadvantage.  He  did  not  know 
precisely  how  things  stood.  Yet  if  the  tall,  lean  man, 
serious  and  growing  gray,  represented  one  form  of  strength, 
the  shorter,  stouter  man,  with  the  mobile  face  and  the  quick 
brain,  stood  for  another.  Offhand  he  could  think  of  no 
weak  spot  on  his  side;  and  if  he  must  fight,  he  would  fight. 

He  forced  a  laugh. 

"More  plain  than  hospitable.  Colonel,"  he  said.  "Per- 
haps, after  all,  it  will  be  best  so,  and  we  shall  understand 
one  another." 

"  I  am  thinking  so,"  Colonel  Sullivan  answered.  It  was 
plain  that  he  did  not  mean  to  be  drawn  from  the  position 
he  had  taken  up. 

"Only  I  think  that  you  have  overlooked  this,"  Asgill 
continued  smoothly.  "It  is  one  thing  to  own  a  house 
and  another  to  kick  the  logs  on  the  hearth;  one  thing  to 
have  the  deeds  and  another  —  in  the  west  —  to  pass  the 
punch-bowl!  More,  by  token,  'tis  a  hospitable  country 
this,  Colonel  and  if  there  is  one  thing  would  annoy  The 
McMurrough  and  the  young  lady,  his  sister,  more  than 
another,  it  would  be  to  turn  a  guest  from  the  door  —  that 
is  thought  to  be  theirs!" 


THELIMIT  219 

"You  mean  that  you  will  not  take  my  bidding?"  the 
Colonel  said. 

"Not  the  least  taste  in  life,"  Asgill  answered  gaily, 
"unless  it  is  backed  by  the  gentleman  or  the  lady." 

"Yet  I  believe,  sir,  that  I  have  a  means  to  persuade  you," 
Colonel  John  replied.  "It  is  no  more  than  a  week  ago, 
Mr.  Asgill,  since  a  number  of  persons  in  my  presence 
assumed  a  badge  so  notoriously  treasonable  that  a  child 
could  not  doubt  its  meaning." 

"In  the  west  of  Ireland,"  Asgill  said,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "  that  is  a  trifle,  my  dear  sir,  not  worth  naming." 

"But  if  reported  in  the  east?" 

Asgill  averted  his  face  that  its  smile  might  not  be  seen. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "it  might  be  a  serious  matter  there." 

"I  think  you  take  me  now,"  Colonel  John  rejoined.  "I 
wish  to  use  no  threats.  The  least  said  the  soonest 
mended." 

Asgill  looked  at  him  with  the  amusement  of  a  man 
watching  the  transparent  scheming  of  a  child,  "As  you 
say,  the  least  said  the  soonest  mended,"  he  rejoined.  "So 
—  who  is  to  report  it  in  the  east?" 

"I  will,  if  necessary." 

"If " 

"If  you  push  me  to  it." 

Asgill  raised  his  eyebrows  impertinently.  "An 
informer?"  he  said. 

Colonel  John  did  not  flinch.  "If  necessary,"  he 
repeated. 

"That  would  be  serious,"  Asgill  rejoined,  "for  many 


220  THEWILDGEESE 

people.  In  the  first  place  for  the  young  lady,  your  war^, 
Colonel.  Then  for  your  kinsman  —  and  Mr.  Ulick 
Sullivan.  After  that  for  quite  a  number  of  honest  gentle- 
men, whose  only  fault  is  a  tendency  to  heroics  after  dinner. 
It  would  be  so  serious,  and  for  so  many,  Colonel,  that  for 
my  part  I  should  be  glad  to  suffer  in  such  good  company. 
Particularly,"  he  continued,  with  a  droll  look,  the  droller 
for  his  appreciation  of  the  Colonel's  face  of  discomfiture, 
"as  being  a  Protestant  and  a  justice,  I  should,  ten  to  one, 
be  the  only  person  against  whom  the  story  would  not  pass. 
So  that,  ten  to  one,  I  should  go  free,  and  the  others  go  to 
Geordie's  prison!" 

Colonel  John  was  fairly  defeated,  his  flank  turned,  his 
guns  captured.  He  had  counted  so  surely  on  the  man 
whom  he  knew  to  be  a  knave  proving  also  a  coward,  that 
even  his  anger  could  not  hide  his  discomfiture.  He  looked, 
indeed,  so  rueful,  and  at  the  same  time  so  wrathful,  that 
Asgill  laughed  aloud. 

"Come,  Colonel,"  he  said,  "it  is  no  use  to  scowl  at  me. 
We  know  you  never  call  any  one  out.  Let  me  just  hint 
that  wits  in  Ireland  are  not  quite  so  slow  as  in  colder 
countries,  and  that,  had  I  been  here  a  week  back,  you  had 
not  found  it  so  easy  to " 

"To  what,  sir?" 

"To  send  two  old  women  to  sea  in  a  cockboat,"  Asgill 
replied.  And  he  laughed  anew  and  loudly.  But  this  time 
there  was  no  gaiety  in  his  laugh.  If  the  Colonel  had  not 
performed  the  feat  in  question,  in  how  different  a  state 
things  might  have  been  at  this  moment!     Asgill  felt  mur- 


THELIMIT  221 

derous  toward  him  as  he  thought  of  that;  and  the  weapon 
of  the  flesh  being  out  of  the  question  —  for  he  had  no  mind 
to  face  the  Colonel's  small-sword  —  he  sought  about  for 
an  arm  of  another  kind.  "  More  by  token,"  he  continued; 
"  if  you  are  going  to  turn  informer,  it  was  a  pity  you  did 
not  send  the  young  woman  to  sea  with  the  old  ones.  But 
I  'm  thinking  jou  'd  not  be  liking  to  be  without  her, 
Colonel?" 

Colonel  John  turned  surprisingly  red.  "We  will 
leave  her  out  of  the  question,  sir,"  he  said  haughtily. 
"Or  —  that  reminds  me,"  he  continued,  with  increas- 
ing sternness.  "You  question  my  right  to  bid  you 
begone " 

"I  dol"  Asgill  cried,  with  zest.  He  was  beginning  to 
enjoy  himself. 

"But  you  forget,  I  think,  another  little  matter  in  the 
past  that  is  known  to  me  —  and  that  you  would  not  like 
disclosed,  I  believe,  sir." 

"  You  seem  to  have  been  raking  things  up,  Colonel." 

"  One  must  deal  with  a  rogue  according  to  his  roguery," 
Colonel  John  retorted. 

Asgill's  face  grew  dark.  He  made  a  movement,  but 
restrained  himself.     "You  don't  mince  matters,"  he  said. 

"I  do  not." 

"You  may  be  finding  it  an  unfortunate  policy  before 
long,"  Asgill  said  between  his  teeth.  He  was  moved 
at  last,  angered,  perhaps  apprehensive  of  what  was 
coming. 

"Maybe,  sir,"  Colonel  John  returned,  "maybe.     But 


222  THEWILDGEESE 

in  the  meantime  let  me  remind  you  that  your  tricks  as  a 
horsedealer  would  not  go  far  to  recommend  you  as  a  guest 
to  my  kinswoman." 

"Oh?" 

"  Wlio  shall  assuredly  hear  who  seized  her  mare  if  you 
persist  in  forcing  your  company  upon  her." 

"Upon  her?"  Asgill  repeated,  in  a  peculiar  tone.  "I 
see." 

Colonel  John  reddened.  "You  know  now,"  he  said. 
"And  if  you  persist " 

"You  will  tell  her,"  Asgill  took  him  up,  "that  I  —  shall 
I  say  —  abducted  her  mare  ?  " 

"I  shall  tell  her  without  hesitation." 

"Or  scruple?" 

Colonel  Sullivan  glowered  at  him,  but  did  not  answer. 

Asgill  laughed  a  laugh  of  honest  contempt.  "And 
she,"  he  said,  "will  not  believe  you  if  you  swear  it  a  score 
of  times!  Try,  sir!  You  will  injure  yourself,  you  will  not 
injure  me.  Why,  man,"  he  continued,  in  a  tone  of 
unmeasured  scorn,  "you  are  duller  than  I  thought  you 
were!  The  ice  is  still  in  your  wits,  and  the  fog  in  your 
brain.  I  thought,  when  I  heard  what  you  had  done,  that 
you  were  the  man  for  Kerry!     But " 

"What  is  it?     What's  this?" 

The  speaker  was  James  McMurrough.  He  had 
approached  unnoticed,  and  his  churlish  tone  showed  that 
what  he  had  overheard  was  not  to  his  liking.  But  Asgill 
supposed  that  James's  ill-humour  was  directed  against  his 
enemy,  and  he  appealed  to  him. 


THE    LIMIT  223 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  answered  with  energy ;  "  I  '11  tell  you ! " 
"Then  you  '11  be  telling  me  indoors!"  James  answered 
curtly. 

"No!"  said  Colonel  Sullivan. 

But  at  that  the  young  man  exploded.  "  No  ?  "  he  cried. 
"No?  And,  why  no?  Confusion,  sir,  it's  too  far  you 
are  driving  us,"  he  continued  passionately.  "  Is  it  at  your 
bidding  I  must  stand  in  a  mob  of  beggars  at  my  own  gate  — 
I,  The  McMurrough  ?  And  be  telling  and  taking  for  all 
the  gossoons  in  the  country  to  hear  ?  No  ?  But  it 's 
yes,  I  say!  There's  bounds  to  it  all,  and  if  you 
must  be  falling  to  words  with  my  friends,  quarrel 
like  gentlemen  within  doors,  and  not  in  a  parcel  of 
loons  at  the  gate." 

He  turned  without  waiting  for  a  reply  and  strode  into 
the  courtyard.  Colonel  John  hesitated  a  moment,  then  he 
stood  aside,  and,  with  a  stern  face,  he  invited  Asgill  to 
precede  him.  The  justice  did  so,  smiling.  He  had  won 
the  first  bout;  and  now,  if  he  was  not  much  mistaken,  his 
opponent  had  made  a  false  move. 

That  opponent,  following  with  a  sombre  face,  began  to 
be  of  the  same  opinion.  In  his  simplicity  he  had  supposed 
that  it  would  be  easy  to  bell  the  cat.  But  the  cat  had  teeth, 
and  claws,  and  the  cunning  of  a  cat,  and  was  not,  it  now 
appeared,  an  animal  easy  to  bell. 

They  passed  into  the  house.  There  were  two  or  three 
buckeens  in  the  hall,  and  Darby  and  one  of  the  down-at- 
heel  serving-boys  were  laying  the  evening  meal.  "You  'II 
be  getting  out,"  James  said  curtly. 


224  THEWILDGEESE 

"We  will,"  replied  one  of  the  men.  And  they  trooped 
out  at  the  back. 

"Now,  what  is  it  ?"  The  McMurroiigh  asked,  turning  on 
his  followers  and  speaking  in  a  tone  hardly  more  civil. 

"It 's  what  you  're  saying  —  Get  out! "  Asgill  answered 
smiling.  "Only  it 's  the  Colonel  here  's  for  saying  it,  and 
it  seems  I  'm  the  one  to  get  out," 

"What  do  you  mean?"  James  growled,  "Sorra  bit  of 
your  fun  am  I  wishing  at  this  present!"  He  wanted  no 
trouble,  and  he  saw  that  here  was  trouble. 

"I  can  tell  you  in  a  few  words,"  Colonel  Sullivan 
answered.  "You  know  on  what  terms  we  are  here.  I 
wish  to  do  nothing  uncivil,  and  I  was  looking  for  this 
gentleman  to  take  a  hint  and  go  quietly.  He  will  not,  it 
seems,  and  so  I  must  say  plainly  what  I  mean.  I  object  to 
his  presence  here." 

James  stared.  He  did  not  understand,  "Why,  man, 
he  's  no  Jacobite ! "  he  cried.     His  surprise  was  genuine. 

"  I  will  say  nothing  as  to  that,"  Colonel  John  answered 
precisely. 

"Then,  faith,  what  are  you  saying?"  James  asked, 
Asgill  stood  by  smiling,  aware  that  silence  would  best 
fight  his  battle. 

"This,"  Colonel  John  returned.  "That  I  know  those 
things  of  him  that  make  him  unfit  company  here." 

"The  deuce  you  do!" 

"And " 

But  James's  patience  was  at  an  end,  "Unfit  company 
for  whom ?"  he  cried,     "Eh!     Is  it  Darby  he '11  be  spoil- 


THE    LIMIT  225 

ing ?  Or  Thaddy  the  lad  ?  Or"  —  resentment  gradually 
overcoming  irony  —  "  is  it  Phelim  or  Morty  he  '11  be  taint- 
ing the  souls  of,  and  he  a  Protestant,  like  yourself? 
Colonel  Sullivan,  it 's  clean  out  of  patience  you  put  me! 
Are  we  boys  at  school,  to  be  scolded  and  flouted  and  put 
right  by  you?  Unfit  company?  For  whom?  For 
whom,  sir?" 

"For  your  sister,"  Colonel  John  replied.  "Without 
saying  more,  Mr.  Asgill  is  not  of  the  class  with  whom  your 
grandfather " 

"My  grandfather  —  be  hanged!"  cried  the  angry 
young  man.  "You  said  you'd  be  master  here,  and 
faith,"  he  continued  with  bitterness,  "it's  master  you 
mean  to  be.  But  there  's  a  limit!  By  heaven,  there  's 
a  limit " 

"Yes,  James,  there  is  a  limit!"  a  voice  struck  in  —  a 
voice  as  angry  as  The  McMurrough's,  but  vibrating  to 
a  purer  note  of  passion;  so  that  the  indignation  which  it 
expressed  seemed  to  raise  the  opposition  to  Colonel  John's 
action  to  a  higher  plane.  "There  is  a  limit.  Colonel 
Sullivan!"  Flavia  repeated,  stepping  from  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  on  the  upper  flight  of  which  —  drawn  from  her  room 
by  the  first  outburst  —  she  had  heard  the  whole.  "  And 
it  has  been  reached !  When  the  head  of  The  McMurroughs 
of  Morristown  is  told  on  his  own  hearth  whom  he  shall 
receive  and  whom  he  shall  put  to  the  door!  Limit  is  it? 
Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  I  would  rather  be  the  poorest  exile  than 
live  thus.  I  would  rather  beg  my  bread  barefoot  among 
strangers,  never  to  see  the  sod  again,  never  to  hear  the 


226  THEWILDGEESE 

friendly  Irish  tongue,  never  to  smell  the  peat  reek,  than 
live  on  this  tenure,  at  the  mercy  of  a  hand  I  loathe,  on  the 
sufferance  of  a  man  I  despise,  of  an  informer,  a  traitor,  ay, 
an  apostate " 

''Flavia!  Flavia!"  Colonel  John's  remonstrance  was 
full  of  pain. 

"All,  don't  call  me  that!"  she  rejoined  passionately. 
"Don't  make  me  hate  my  own  name!  Better  a  hundred 
times  an  open  foe " 

"Have  I  ever  been  anything  but  an  open  foe?"  he 
returned. 

She  swept  the  remonstrance  by.  "Better,"  she  cried, 
vehemently,  "far  better  a  fate  we  know,  a  lot  we  under- 
stand; far  better  freedom  and  poverty,  than  to  live  thus  — 
yesterday  a  laughing-stock,  to-day  slaves;  yesterday  false 
to  our  vows,  to-day  false  to  our  friends!  Oh,  there  must 
be  an  end!     There " 

She  choked  on  the  word,  and  her  distress  moved  Asgill 
to  do  a  strange  thing.  He  had  listened  to  her  with  an 
admiration  that  for  the  time  purified  the  man.  Now  he 
stepped  forward.  "I  would  rather  never  cross  this  thres- 
hold again,"  he  cried;  "never,  ay,  believe  me,  I  would 
rather  never  see  you  again,  than  give  you  this  pain!  I 
go,  dear  lady,  I  go!  And  do  not  let  one  thought  of  me 
trouble  or  distress  you!  Let  this  gentleman  have  his  way. 
I  do  not  ask  to  understand  how  he  holds  you,  but  I  shall 
be  silent." 

He  seemed  to  the  onlookers  as  much  raised  above  him- 
self as  Colonel  John  seemed  depressed  below  himself. 


THE   LIMIT  227 

There  could  be  no  doubt  with  whom  the  victory  lay :  with 
whom  the  magnanimity. 

But  as  Asgill  turned  on  his  heel  Flavia  found  her  voice. 
"Do  not  go!"  she  cried  impulsively.  "There  must  be  an 
end  of  this!" 

But  Asgill  insisted.  He  saw  that  to  go  was  to  com- 
mend himself  to  her  a  hundred  times  more  seriously  than 
if  he  stayed,  "No,"  he  said;  "permit  me  to  go."  He 
stepped  forward  and,  with  a  grace  borrowed  for  the 
occasion,  and  with  lips  that  trembled  at  his  daring, 
he  raised  and  kissed  her  hand.  "Permit  me  to  go, 
dear  lady.  1  would  rather  banish  myself  a  hundred 
times  than  bring  ill  into  this  house  or  differences  into 
this  family." 

"Flavia!"  Colonel  Sullivan  said,  finding  his  voice  at 
last,  "hear  first,  I  am  begging  you,  what  I  have  to  say! 
Hear  it,  since  against  my  will  the  matter  has  been  brought 
to  your  knowledge." 

"That  last  I  can  believe!"  she  cried,  spitefully.  "But 
for  hearing,  I  choose  the  part  this  gentleman  has  chosen  — 
to  go  from  your  presence.  What  ?  "  looking  at  the  Colonel 
with  white  cheeks  and  flaming  eyes  "has  it  come  to  this? 
That  we  must  seek  your  leave  to  live,  to  breathe,  to  have 
a  guest,  to  eat  and  sleep,  and  perhaps  to  die  ?  Then  I 
say  —  then  I  say,  if  this  be  so,  we  have  no  choice  but  to  go. 
This  is  no  place  for  us!" 

"Flavia!" 

"Ah,  do  not  call  me  that!"  she  retorted.  "My  hope, 
joy,  honour,  are  in  this  house,  and  you  have  disgraced  it! 


228  THEWILDGEESE 

My  brother  is  a  McMurrough,  and  what  have  you  made  of 
him?  He  cowers  before  your  eye!  He  has  no  will  but 
yours!  You  flog  us  like  children,  but  you  forget  that  we 
are  grown,  and  that  it  is  more  than  the  body  that  smarts. 
It  is  shame  we  feel  —  shame  so  bitter  that  if  a  look  could 
lay  you  dead  at  my  feet,  though  it  cost  us  all,  though  it  left 
us  beggared,  I  would  look  it  joyfully  —  were  I  alone! 
But  you,  a  schemer  living  on  our  impotence,  walk  on  and 
trample  upon  us " 

"Enough,"  Colonel  Sullivan  cried,  intolerable  pain  in 
his  voice.  "You  win!  You  have  a  heart  harder  than  the 
millstone,  more  set  than  ice!  I  call  you  to  witness  I  have 
struggled  hard " 

"For  the  mastery,"  she  cried  venomously.  "And  for 
your  master,  the  devil!" 

"No,"  he  replied,  more  quietly.  " I  think  for  God.  If 
I  was  wrong,  may  he  forgive  me ! " 

"I  never  will!"  she  protested. 

"  I  shall  not  ask  for  your  forgiveness,"  he  retorted.  He 
looked  at  her  silently,  and  then,  in  an  altered  tone,  "the 
more,"  he  said,  "as  my  mind  is  changed  again.  A  minute 
ago  I  was  weak;  now  I  am  strong,  and  I  will  do  my  duty 
as  I  have  set  myself  to  do  it.  When  I  came  here  I  came  to 
be  a  peacemaker,  I  came  to  save  the  great  from  his  folly, 
and  the  poor  from  his  ignorance,  to  shield  the  house  of  my 
fathers  from  ruin  and  my  kin  from  the  jail  and  the  gibbet. 
And  I  stand  here  still,  and  I  shall  persist  —  I  shall  persist." 

"You  will?"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  shall!     I  shall  remain  and  persist." 


THELIMIT  229 

Passion  choked  her.  She  could  not  find  words.  After 
all  she  had  said  he  would  persist.  He  would  still  trample 
upon  them,  still  be  master.  They  were  to  have  no  life, 
no  will,  no  freedom  —  while  he  lived.  Ah,  while  he  lived. 
She  made  an  odd  gesture  with  her  hands,  and  turned  and 
went  up  the  stairs.     The  worse  for  him! 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  COUNTERPLOT 

LUKE  ASGILL  rode  slowly  from  the  gates.  The 
McMiirrough  walked  by  his  stirrup,  talking 
■  rapidly — he,  too,  with  furtive  backward  glances. 
In  five  minutes  he  had  explained  the  situation  and  the 
Colonel's  vantage  ground.  At  the  end  of  those  minutes, 
"I see,"  Asgill  said,  thoughtfully.  "Easy  to  put  him 
under  the  sod!  But  you're  thinking  him  worse  dead 
than  alive." 

"Sorraadoubtof  it!" 

"Yet  the  bogs  are  deep,"  Asgill  returned,  his  tone  smack- 
ing faintly  of  raillery.  "You  might  deal  with  him  first 
and  his  heir  when  the  time  came.     Why  not  ?  " 

"God  knows!"  James  answered.  "And  I  've  no  taste 
to  make  the  trial."     Then  he  spoke  of  the  will. 

Asffill  looked  for  some  moments  between  his  horse's 
ears,  flicking  his  foot  the  while  with  his  switch.  When 
he  spoke  he  proved  in  three  or  four  sentences  that  if  his 
will  was  the  stronger,  his  cunning  was  also  the  more  subtle. 

"  A  will  is  revocable,"  he  said.     "  Eh  ?  " 

"It  is." 

"  And  the  man  that 's  made  one  may  make  another  ?  " 


"Who's  doubting  it?" 


230 


A   COUNTERPLOT  231 

"But  you're  doubting,"  Asgill  rejoined  —  and  he 
laughed  as  he  spoke  —  "that  it  would  not  be  in  your 
favour,  my  lad." 

"Never  a  bit  do  I  doubt  it!"  James  said. 

"No,  but  in  a  minute  you  will,"  Asgill  answered.  And 
stooping  from  his  saddle,  he  talked  for  some  minutes  in  a 
low  tone.  When  he  raised  his  head  again  he  clapped  The 
McMurrough  on  the  shoulder.  "There!"  he  said,  "now 
won't  that  be  doing  the  trick  for  you?" 

"It's  clever,"  James  answered,  with  a  cruel  gleam  in 
his  eyes.  "It  is  clever!  The  old  devil  himself  could  n't 
be  beating  it  by  the  length  of  his  hoof!     But " 

"What's  amiss  with  it?" 

"A  will 's  revocable,"  James  said,  with  a  cunning  look. 
"And  what  he  can  do  once  he  can  do  twice." 

"Sorrow  a  doubt  of  that,  too,  if  you  're  innocent  enough 
to  let  him  make  one!     But  you  're  not,  my  lad.     No; 

the  will  first,  and  then "     Luke  Asgill  did  not  finish 

the  sentence,  but  he  grinned.  "Anything  else  amiss  with 
it  ? '  ^he  asked. 

"No.  But  the  devil  a  bit  do  I  see  why  you  bring 
Flawy  into  it?" 

"Don't  you?" 

"I  do  not." 

Asgill  drew  rein,  and  by  a' gesture  bade  his  groom  ride 
on.  No?"  he  said.  "Well,  I'll  be  telling  you.  He's 
an  obstinate  dog;  faith,  as  obstinate  a  dog  as  ever  walked 
on  two  legs!  And  left  to  himself  he  'd,  maybe,  take  more 
time  and  trouble  to  come  to  where  we  want  him  than  we 


232  THEWILDGEESE 

can  spare.  But  I  'm  thinking,  James  McMurrough,  that 
he  's  sweet  on  your  sister!" 

The  McMurrough  stared.  "It's  jesting  you  are?" 
he  said. 

"It's  the  last  thing  I'd  jest  about,"  Asgill  answered 
sombrely.  "  It  is  so;  whether  she  knows  it  or  not,  I  know 
it!  And  so  d'  you  see,  if  she  's  in  this,  't  will  do  more  — 
take  my  word  for  it  that  know  —  to  break  him  down  and 
draw  the  heart  out  of  him,  so  that  he  '11  care  little  one  way 
or  the  other,  than  anything  you  can  do  yourself! " 

James  McMurrough's  face  reflected  his  admiration. 
"If  you  're  in  the  right,"  he  said,  "I  '11  say  it  for  you, 
Asgill,  you  're  the  match  of  the  old  one  for  cleverness. 
But  do  you  think  she  '11  come  to  it,  the  jewel?" 

"She  will." 

James  shook  his  head.     "I  'm  not  thinking  it,"  he  said. 

"Are  you  not?"  Asgill  answered,  and  his  face  fell  and 
his  voice  was  anxious.     "And  why?" 

"Sure  and  why?  I  '11  tell  you.  It  was  but  a  day  or 
two  ago  I  'd  a  plan  of  my  own.  It  was  just  to  swear  the 
plot  upon  him;  swear  he  'd  come  off  the  Spanish  ship,  and 
the  rest,  d'  you  see,  and  get  him  clapped  in  Tralee  jail  in 
my  place.  More  by  token,  I  was  coming  to  you  to  help 
in  it.  But  I  thought  I  'd  need  the  girl  to  swear  to  it,  and 
when  I  up  and  told  her  she  was  like  a  hen  you  'd  take  the 
chickens  from!" 

Asgill  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then,  "You  asked  her 
to  do  that  ?  "  he  said,  in  an  odd  tone. 

"Just  so." 


A   COUNTERPLOT  233 

"And  you  're  wondering  she  did  n't  do  it?" 

"I   am." 

"And  I'm  thankful  she'd  not  be  doing  it!"  Asgill 
retorted. 

"Oh!"  James  exclaimed.  "You  're  mighty  particular 
all  in  a  minute,  Mr.  Asgill.  But  if  not  that,  why  this. 
Eh?    Why  this?" 

"For  a  reason  you'd  not  be  understanding,"  Asgill 
answered,  coolly.  "But  I  know  it  myself  in  my  bones. 
She  '11  do  this  if  she  's  handled.  But  there  's  a  man  that  'U 
not  be  doing  it  at  all,  at  all,  and  that 's  Ulick  Sullivan. 
You  '11  have  to  be  rid  of  him  for  a  time,  and  how  I  'm  not 
saying." 

"I'll  be  planning  that." 

"And  still  there  's  a  thing  you  must  be  planning,  my  lad. 
It 's  only  to  a  Protestant  he  can  leave  it,  and  you  must  have 
one  ready.     Now  if  I " 

"  No ! "  James  cried,  with  sudden  energy.  And  he  drew 
back  a  step,  and  looked  the  other  in  the  face.  "No, 
Mr.  Asgill,"  he  continued;  "if  it  is  to  that  you  've  been 
working,  I  'd  as  soon  him  as  you!  Ay,  I  would!  I  'd 
sooner  turn  myself!" 

"I  can  believe  that." 

"A  hundred  times  sooner!"  James  repeated.  "And 
what  for  not?  What's  to  prevent  me?  Eh?  WTiat 's 
to  prevent  me?" 

"Your  sister,"  Asgill  answered. 

James's  face,  which  had  flamed  with  passion,  lost  its 
colour. 


234  THEWILDGEESE 

"Your  sister,"  Asgill  repeated  with  gusto.  "I'd  like 
fine  to  see  you  asking  her  to  help  you  turn  Protestant! 
Faith,  and,  for  a  mere  word  of  that  same,  I  '11  warrant 
she  'd  treat  you  as  the  old  gentleman  treated  you!" 

"Anyway,  I'll  not  trust  you,"  James  replied,  with 
venom.  "Sooner  than  that  I  '11  have  —  ay,  that  will  do 
finely  —  I  '11  have  Constantine  Hussey  of  Duppa.  He  's 
holder  for  three  or  four  already,  and  the  whole  country 
calls  him  honest!     I '11  have  him  and  be  safe." 

"You  '11  do  as  you  please  about  that,"  Asgill  answered 
equably.  "Only,  mind  you,  I  don't  use  my  wits  for 
nothing.  If  the  estate 's  to  be  yours,  Flavia  's  to  be 
mine  —  if  she  's  willing." 

"  Willing  or  unwilling  for  what  I  care! "  James  answered 
brutally. 

Asgill  did  not  hide  his  scorn.  "An  excellent  brother!" 
he  said.     "And  so,  good  day  to  you." 

The  McMurrough  watched  the  rider  go,  and  twice  he 
shook  his  fist  after  him. 

"Marry  my  sister,  you  dog,"  he  muttered.  "Ay,  if  it 
will  give  me  my  place  again!  But  for  helping  you  to  the 
land  first  and  to  her  afterward,  as  you  'd  have  me,  you 
schemer,  you  bog-trotter,  it  would  make  Tophet's  dog  sick! 
You  son  of  an  upstart!  You  'd  marry  my  sister,  would 
you?  It  will  be  odd  if  I  don't  jink  you  yet,  when  I  've 
made  my  use  of  you!  I  'm  a  schemer  too,  Mister  Asgill, 
only  —  one  at  a  time.  The  Colonel  first,  and  you  after- 
ward!    Ay,  you  afterward,  brother-in-law!" 

With  a  last  gesture  of  defiance  he  returned  to  the  house. 


A   COUNTERPLOT  235 

It  was  two  or  three  days  after  this  interview  that  Colonel 
SulHvan,  descending  at  the  breakfast  hour,  found  Flavia 
in  the  room.  He  saw  her  with  surprise,  for  during  those 
three  days  the  girl  had  not  sat  at  meals  with  him.  Once 
or  twice  his  entrance  had  surprised  her,  but  it  had  been 
the  signal  for  her  departure;  and  he  had  seen  no  more  of 
her  than  the  back  of  her  head  or  the  tail  of  her  gown. 
More  often  he  had  found  the  men  alone  and  had  sat  down 
with  them.  Far  from  resenting  this  avoidance,  he  had 
found  it  proper.  He  suffered  it  patiently,  and  hoped 
that  by  steering  a  steady  course  he  would  gradually 
force  her  to  change  her  opinion  of  him. 

That  she  was  already  beginning  to  change  he  could 
scarcely  hope;  yet,  when  he  saw  on  this  morning  that  she 
meant  to  abide  his  coming,  he  was  secretly  and  absurdly 
elated. 

She  was  at  the  window,  but  turned  on  hearing  his  step. 
"  I  am  wishing  to  speak  to  you,"  she  said.  But  her  unfor- 
giving eyes  looked  out  of  a  hard-cut  face,  and  her  figure 
was  stiff  as  a  sergeant's  cane. 

After  that  he  did  not  try  to  compass  a  commonplace 
greeting.  He  bowed  gravely.  "I  am  ready  to  listen,"  he 
answered. 

"  I  am  wanting  to  give  you  a  warning,"  she  said.  "  Your 
man  Bale  does  not  share  the  immunity  Vv^hich  you  have 
secured,  and  if  you  '11  be  taking  my  advice  you  will  send 
him  away.  My  uncle  is  riding  as  far  as  Mallow;  he  will 
be  absent  ten  days.  If  you  think  fit,  you  will  allow 
your  man   to   go   with   him.     The  interval  may" — she 


236  THEWILDGEESE 

halted  as  if  in  search  of  a  word,  but  her  eyes  did 
not  leave  his  — "I  do  not  say  it  will,  but  it  may  mend 
matters." 

"I  am  obliged  to  you,"  he  answered.  Then  he  was 
silent,  reflecting. 

"You  are  not  wishing,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  con- 
tempt, "  to  expose  the  man  to  a  risk  you  do  not  run 
yourself  ?  " 

"Heaven  forbid!"  he  answered.     "But " 

"If  you  think  he  is  a  protection  to  you,"  she  continued 
in  the  same  tone,  "do  not  send  him." 

"He  is  not  that,"  he  replied,  unmoved  by  her  taunt. 
"  But  I  am  alone,  and  he  is  a  comfort  to  me." 

"As  you  please,"  she  answered. 

"Nevertheless  he  shall  go,"  he  continued.  "It  may  be 
for  the  best."  He  was  thinking  that  if  he  rejected  this 
overture,  she  might  make  no  other.  "In  any  case,"  he 
added,  "I  thank  you." 

She  did  not  deign  to  answer,  but  turned  and  went  out. 
On  the  threshold  she  met  a  serving-boy  and  she  paused 
so  that  the  Colonel  caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  her 
face.  It  wore  a  strange  look,  of  disgust  or  of  horror  — 
he  was  not  sure  which  —  that  appalled  him ;  so  that  when 
the  door  closed  upon  her,  he  remained  gazing  at  it.  Had 
he  misread  the  look  ?  Or  —  what  was  its  meaning  ? 
Could  it  be  that  she  hated  him  to  that  degree !  He  was  in  a 
brown  study  when  Uncle  Ulick  came  in  and  confirmed  the 
story  of  his  journey. 

"You  had  better  come  with  me,"  he  said.     "I  shall  lie 


A   COUNTERPLOT  237 

at  Tralee  one  night,  and  at  Ross  Castle  one  night,  and  at 
Mallow  the  third." 

But  Colonel  John  had  set  his  course,  and  was  resolved 
to  abide  by  it.  After  breakfast  he  saw  Bale,  and  the  man 
consented  to  go  —  with  forebodings  at  which  his  master 
affected  to  smile. 

"None  the  less  I  misdoubt  them,"  the  man  said,  stick- 
ing to  his  point.  "I  misdoubt  them,  your  honour.  They 
were  never  so  careful  for  me,"  he  added  grimly,  "when 
they  were  for  piking  me  in  the  bog!" 

"The  young  lady  had  naught  to  do  with  that,"  Colonel 
John  replied. 

"The  deuce  take  me  if  I  know!" 

"Nonsense,  man!"  the  Colonel  said  sharply.  "I'll 
not  hear  such  words." 

"But  why  separate  us,  your  honour?"  Bale  pleaded. 
"Not  for  good,  I  swear.     No,  not  for  good!" 

"For  your  greater  safety,  I  hope." 

"Oh,  ay,  I  understand  that!  But  what  of  your 
honour's?" 

"I  have  explained  to  you,"  the  Colonel  said  patiently, 
"why  I  am  safe  here." 

"For  my  part,  and  that's  flat,  I  hate  their  blarney!" 
the  man  burst  out.  "It 's  everything  to  please  you  while 
they  sharpen  the  pike  to  stick  in  your  back." 

"Hush!"  Colonel  John  cried,  sternly.  "And,  for  my 
sake,  keep  your  tongue  between  your  teeth.  Be  more 
prudent,  man!" 

"  It's  my  belief  I  '11  never  see  your  honour  again ! "  the 


238  THEWILDGEESE 

man  cried,  with  passion.     "That 's  my  belief  and  you  '11 
not  stir  it." 

"  We  've  parted  before  in  worse  hap,"  Colonel  John 
answered,  "and  come  together  again.  We  '11  do  the 
same  this  time." 

The  man  did  not  answer,  but  for  the  rest  of  the  day  he 
clung  to  his  master  like  a  burr,  and  it  was  with  an  unusual 
sinking  of  the  heart  that  Colonel  John  saw  him  ride  away 
on  the  morrow.  With  him  went  Uncle  Ulick,  the  Colonel's 
other  friend  in  the  house;  and  certainly  the  departure  of 
these  two  seemed  unlucky.  But  the  man  who  was  left 
behind  was  not  one  to  give  way  to  vain  fears.  He  chid 
himself  for  a  presentiment  that  belittled  Providence. 
Perhaps,  in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  he  welcomed  a  change, 
finding  cheer  in  the  thought  that  the  smaller  the  household 
at  Morristown,  the  more  prominently,  and  therefore  the 
more  fairly,  he  must  stand  in  Flavia's  view. 

Be  that  as  it  might,  he  saw  nothing  of  her  on  that  day 
or  the  following  day.  But  though  she  shunned  him, 
others  did  not.  He  began  to  remark  that  he  was  seldom 
alone.  James  and  the  O'Beirnes  were  always  at  his  elbow 
—  watching,  it  seemed  to  him.  They  said  little,  but  if  he 
came  out  of  his  chamber  he  found  one  in  the  passage,  and 
if  he  mounted  to  it  one  forewent  him!  This  dogging, 
this  endless  watching,  would  have  got  on  the  nerves  of  a 
more  timid  man;  it  began  to  disturb  him.  He  began  to 
fancy  that  even  Darby  and  the  serving-boys  looked  askance 
at  him  and  kept  him  in  view.  Once  he  took  a  notion  that 
the  butler,  who  had  been  friendly  within  limits,  wished  to 


A   COUNTERPLOT  239 

say  something  to  him.  But  at  the  critical  moment  Morty 
O'Beirne  popped  up  from  somewhere,  and  Darby  sneaked 
off  in  silence. 

The  Colonel  thought  that  he  would  give  Morty  a  chance 
of  speaking.  "Are  you  looking  for  your  brother?"  he 
asked  suavely. 

"I  am  not,"  Morty  answered,  with  a  gloomy  look. 

"Nor  for  The  McMurrough?" 

"I  am  not.  I  am  thinking,"  he  added,  with  a  grin, 
"that  he  has  his  hands  full  with  the  young  lady." 

Colonel  John  was  startled.  "What's  the  matter?" 
he  asked. 

"Oh,  two  minds  in  a  house.  Sorrow  a  bit  more  than 
that.  It 's  no  very  new  thing  in  a  family,"  Morty  added. 
And  he  went  out  whistling  "  'T  was  a'  for  our  rightful 
King."  But  he  went,  as  the  Colonel  noted,  no  farther  than 
the  courtyard,  whence  he  could  command  the  room 
through  the  window.  He  lounged  there,  whistling,  and 
now  and  again  peeping. 

Suddenly,  on  the  upper  floor.  Colonel  John  heard  a  door 
open,  and  the  clamour  of  a  voice  raised  in  anger.  It  was 
James's  voice.  "Tell  him?  Curse  me  if  you  shall!" 
Colonel  John  heard  him  say.  The  next  moment  the  door 
was  sharply  closed  and  he  caught  no  more. 

But  he  had  heard  enough  to  quicken  his  pulses.  What 
was  it  she  wished  to  tell  him  ?  Was  she  seeking  to  follow 
up  the  hint  which  she  had  given  him  on  Bale's  behalf? 
And  was  the  surveillance  to  which  he  had  been  subjected 
for  the  last  two  days  aimed  at  keeping  them  apart  ? 


240  THEWILDGEESE 

Colonel  John  suspected  that  this  might  be  so;  and  his 
heart  beat  more  quickly.  At  the  evening  meal  he  was 
early  in  the  room,  on  the  chance  that  she  might  appear 
before  the  others.  But  she  did  not  descend,  and  the  meal 
proved  unpleasant  beyond  the  ordinary,  James  drinking 
more  than  was  good  for  him,  and  taking  a  tone  brutal 
and  churlish.  For  some  reason,  the  Colonel  reflected, 
the  young  man  was  beginning  to  lose  his  fears.  Why? 
What  was  he  planning? 

"Secure  as  I  seem,  I  must  look  to  myself,"  Colonel  John 
thought.  And  he  slept  that  night  with  his  door  bolted  and 
a  loaded  pistol  under  his  pillow.  Next  morning  he  took 
care  to  descend  early,  on  the  chance  of  seeing  Flavia  before 
the  others  appeared.  She  was  not  down;  he  waited,  and 
she  did  not  come.  But  when  he  had  been  in  the  room 
five  minutes  a  serving-girl  slipped  in  at  the  back,  showed 
him  a  scared  face,  held  out  a  scrap  of  paper  and,  when  he 
had  taken  it,  fled  in  a  panic  without  a  word. 

He  hid  the  paper  about  him  and  read  it  later.  The 
message  was  in  Flavia's  hand;  neither  James  nor  the 
O'Beirnes  were  capable  of  penning  a  grammatical  sentence. 
Colonel  John's  spirits  rose  as  he  read  the  note. 

"Be  at  the  old  Tower  an  hour  after  sunset.  You  must 
not  be  followed." 

"That  is  more  easily  said  than  done,"  he  commented. 

Nor  did  he  see  how  it  was  to  be  done.  He  stood, 
cudgelling  his  brains  to  evolve  a  plan.  But  he  found  none 
that  might  not,  by  awakening  James's  suspicions,  make 
matters  worse.     He  had  at  last  to  let  things  take    their 


A   COUNTERPLOT  241 

course,  in  the  hope  that  when  the  time  came  they  would 
shape  themselves  favourably. 

They  did.  For  before  noon  he  gathered  that  James 
wanted  to  go  fishing.  The  O'Beirnes  also  wanted  to  go 
fishing,  and  for  the  general  convenience  it  became  him  to 
go  with  them.  He  said  neither  No  nor  Yes ;  but  he  dallied 
with  the  idea  until  it  was  time  to  start  and  they  had  made 
up  their  minds  that  he  w^as  coming.     Then  he  declined. 

James  swore,  the  O'Beirnes  scowled  at  him  and 
grumbled.  Presently  the  three  went  outside  and  held  a 
conference.  His  hopes  rose  as  he  sat  smiling  to  himself, 
for  their  next  step  was  to  call  Darby.  Evidently  they 
gave  him  orders  and  left  him  in  charge,  for  a  few  minutes 
later  they  went  off,  spending  their  anger  on  one  another 
and  on  the  barefoot  gossoons  who  carried  the  tackle. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Colonel  John  took  up  his  position 
on  the  horse-block;  there  he  affected  to  be  busy  plaiting 
horse-hair  lines.  Every  two  or  three  minutes  Darby 
showed  himself  at  the  door;  once  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
the  old  man  found  occasion  to  cross  the  court  to  count  the 
ducks  or  rout  a  trespassing  beggar.  Toward  sunset  he 
came  less  often,  having  to  busy  himself  with  the  evening 
meal.  The  Colonel  smiled  and  waited,  and  presently 
the  butler  came  again,  found  him  still  seated  there,  and 
withdrew  —  this  time  with  an  air  of  finality.  "  He  's 
satisfied,"  the  Colonel  muttered,  and  the  next  moment  he 
was  gone  also.  The  light  was  waning  fast,  night  was 
falling  in  the  valley.  Before  he  had  travelled  a  hundred 
yards  he  was  lost  to  view. 


242  THEWILDGEESE 

When  he  had  gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile  he  halted  and 
listened,  with  his  ear  near  the  ground,  for  the  beat  of  pur- 
suing footsteps.  He  heard  none,  nor  any  sounds  but  the 
low  of  a  cow  whose  calf  was  being  weaned,  the  "Whoo! 
hoo!  hoo! "  of  owls  beginning  to  mouse  beside  the  lake,  and 
the  creak  of  oars  in  a  boat  which  darkness  already  hid. 
He  straightened  himself  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  hastened 
at  speed  in  the  direction  of  the  waterfall. 

Before  he  stood  on  the  platform  and  made  out  the  shape 
of  the  Tower  looming  dark  and  huge  above  him,  he  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  need  which  forced  Flavia 
to  such  a  place  at  such  an  hour  must  be  great.  The  moon 
would  not  rise  before  eleven  o'clock,  the  last  shimmer  of 
the  water  had  faded  into  unfathomable  blackness  beneath 
him;  he  had  to  tread  softly  and  with  care  to  avoid  the 
brink. 

He  peered  about  him,  hoping  to  see  her  figure  emerge 
beside  him.  He  did  not,  and  disappointed,  he  coughed. 
Finally,  in  a  subdued  voice,  he  called  her  by  name,  once 
and  twice.  Alas!  only  the  wind,  softly  stirring  the  grass 
and  whispering  in  the  ivy,  answered  him.  He  was  begin- 
ning to  think  that  she  had  failed  to  come,  when,  at  no  great 
distance  before  him,  he  fancied  some  one  moved.  He 
groped  his  way  forward  half  a  dozen  paces,  found  a  light 
break  on  his  view,  and  stood  in  astonishment. 

The  movement  had  carried  him  beyond  the  face  of  the 
Tower,  and  so  revealed  the  light,  which  issued  from  a 
doorway  situate  in  the  flank  of  the  building.  He  paused; 
but  second  thoughts  reassured  him.    He  saw  that  in  that 


^  A     COUNTERPLOT  243 

position  the  light  was  not  visible  from  the  lake  or  the  house; 
and  he  moved  quickly  to  the  open  door,  expecting  to  see 
Flavia.  Three  steps  led  down  to  the  basement  room  of 
the  Tower;  great  was  his  surprise  when  he  saw  below  him 
in  this  remote,  abandoned  building  —  in  this  room  three 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  soil  —  a  table  set  handsomely 
with  four  lighted  candles  in  tall  sticks,  and  furnished 
besides  with  a  silver  inkhorn,  pens,  and  paper.  Beside  the 
table  stood  a  couple  of  chairs  and  a  stool.  Doubtless  there 
was  other  furniture  in  the  room,  but  in  his  astonishment 
he  saw  only  these. 

He  uttered  an  exclamation  and  descended  the  steps. 
"Flavia!"  he  cried.  "Flavia!"  He  did  not  see  her,  and 
he  moved  a  pace  toward  that  part  of  the  room  which  the 
door  hid  from  him. 

Crash!  The  door  fell  to,  dragged  by  an  unseen  hand. 
Colonel  John  sprang  toward  it;  but  too  late.  He  heard 
the  grating  of  a  rusty  key  turned  in  the  lock;  he  heard 
through  one  of  the  loopholes  the  sound  of  an  inhuman 
laugh;  and  he  knew  that  he  was  a  prisoner.  In  that 
moment  the  cold  air  of  the  vault  struck  a  chill  to  his  bones; 
but  it  struck  not  so  cold  nor  so  death-like  as  the  knowledge 
struck  to  his  heart  that  Flavia  had  duped  him.  Yes, 
before  the  crash  of  the  closing  door  had  ceased  to  echo  in 
the  stone  vaulting,  he  knew  that,  he  felt  that!  She  had 
tricked  him.  He  let  his  chin  sink  on  his  breast.  Oh,  the 
pity  of  it! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PEINE  FORTE  ET  DURE 

FOR  many  minutes  Colonel  John  sat  motionless  in 
the  chair  into  which  he  had  sunk,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  flames  of  the  candles.  His  unwinking 
gaze  created  about  each  tongue  of  flame  strange  effects  of 
vapour,  halo-like  circles  that  widened  and  again  contracted, 
colours  that  came  and  went.  But  he  saw  these  things  with 
his  eyes  without  seeing  them  with  his  mind.  It  was  not 
of  them,  it  was  not  of  the  death-cold  room  about  him,  it 
was  not  of  anything  within  sight  he  was  thinking;  but  of 
Flavia! 

Of  Flavia,  who  had  deceived  him,  duped  him,  cajoled 
him.  Who,  by  affecting  a  quarrel  with  her  brother, 
had  thrown  him  off  his  guard,  and  won  his  confidence, 
only  to  betray  it.  Who,  having  lured  him  thither, 
had  laughed  —  had  laughed!  As  he  sat  and  thought 
of  her  treachery,  he  looked  years  older.  It  cut  him  to 
the  heart. 

At  length,  with  a  sigh  drawn  from  his  very  soul,  he 
roused  himself,  and,  taking  a  candle,  he  made  the  round 
of  the  chamber.  The  door  by  which  he  had  entered  was 
the  only  outlet,  and  it  was  of  stout  oak,  clamped  with  iron, 
and  locked.     For  windows,  a  pair  of  loopholes,  slits  so 

244 


PEINE    FORTE    ET    DURE        245 

narrow  that  on  the  brightest  day  the  room  must  be  twilit, 
pierced  the  wall  toward  the  lake. 

The  walls  w^ere  two  feet  thick,  and  the  groined  roof  was 
of  stone,  hard  as  the  weathering  of  centuries  had  left  it. 
But  not  so  hard,  not  so  cruel  as  her  heart!  Flavia!  The 
word  almost  came  from  his  lips  in  a  cry  of  pain. 

Yet  what  was  her  purpose  ?  He  had  been  lured  hither : 
but  why?  His  eyes  fell  on  the  table;  the  answer  would 
doubtless  be  found  among  the  papers  that  lay  on  it.  He 
sat  down  in  the  chair  set  before  it,  and  took  up  the  first 
sheet  that  came  to  hand,  a  note  of  a  dozen  lines  in  her 
handwriting. 

"Sir,"  so  it  ran,  — 

"You  have  betrayed  us;  and,  were  that  all,  I  'd  still 
be  finding  it  in  my  heart  to  forgive  you.  But  you  have 
betrayed  also  our  country,  our  King,  and  our  faith; 
and  for  this  it 's  not  with  me  it  lies  to  pardon.  Over  and 
above,  you  have  thought  to  hold  us  in  a  web  that  would 
make  you  safe  at  once  in  your  life  and  your  person;  but 
you  are  meshed  in  your  turn,  and  will  fare  as  you  can, 
without  water,  food,  or  fire,  until  you  have  signed  and 
sealed  the  grant  which  lies  beside  this  paper.  We  're 
not  unmerciful ;  and  one  will  visit  you  once  in  twenty-four 
hours  until  he  has  it  under  your  hand,  when  he  will  witness 
it.  That  done,  you  will  go  where  you  please ;  and  heaven 
forgive  you.  I,  who  write  this,  am,  though  unjustly,  the 
owner  of  that  you  grant,  and  you  do  no  wrong. 

"Flavia  McMurrough." 


246  THEWILDGEESE 

He  read  the  letter  with  a  mixture  of  emotions.  Beside 
it  lay  a  deed,  engrossed  on  parchment,  which  purported 
to  grant  all  that  he  held  under  the  will  of  the  late  Sir 
Michael  McMurrough  to  Constantine  Hussey,  Esquire,  of 
Duppa.  But  annexed  to  the  deed  was  a  separate  scroll, 
illegal  but  not  unusual  in  Ireland  at  that  day,  stating  that 
the  true  meaning  was  that  the  lands  should  be  held  by 
Constantine  Hussey  for  the  use  of  The  McMurrough,  who, 
as  a  Roman  Catholic,  was  not  capable  of  taking  them  in 
his  own  name. 

Fully,  only  too  fully,  enlightened  by  Flavia's  letter, 
Colonel  John  barely  glanced  at  the  parchments;  for, 
largely  as  these  bulked  on  the  table,  the  gist  of  all  lay  in 
the  letter.  He  had  fallen  into  a  trap  —  a  trap  as  cold, 
cruel,  heartless  as  the  bosom  of  her  who  had  decoyed  him 
hither.  Without  food  or  water!  And  already  the  chill  of 
the  earthen  floor  was  eating  into  his  bones,  already  the 
damp  of  a  hundred  years  was  creeping  over  him. 

He  sat  gazing  at  the  paper  with  dull  eyes.  For,  after  all, 
whose  interests  had  he  upheld  ?  Whose  cause  had  he 
supported  against  James  McMurrough  and  his  friends? 
For  whose  sake  had  he  declared  himself  master  at  Morris- 
town,  with  no  intention,  no  thought,  as  heaven  was  his 
witness,  of  deriving  one  jot  or  one  tittle  of  advantage  for 
himself  ?  Flavia's !  And  she  had  planned  this !  She  had 
consigned  him  to  this,  playing  to  its  crafty  end  the  farce 
that  had  blinded  him! 

His  mind  travelled  back  to  the  beginning  of  it  all;  to 
the  day  on  which  Sir  Michael's  letter,  with  a  copy  of  his 


PEINE    FORTE    ET    DURE        247 

will,  had  reached  his  hands,  at  Stralsund  on  the  Baltic, 
in  his  quarters  beside  the  East  Gate.  The  cast  of  his 
thoughts  at  the  reading  rose  up  before  him.  The  recollec- 
tions of  his  home,  his  boyhood,  his  father,  which  the  old 
man's  writing  had  evoked,  and  the  firmness  with  which, 
touched  by  the  dead  man's  confidence,  he  had  resolved  to 
protect  the  girl's  interests,  that  the  old  man's  confidence 
should  be  justified,  the  young  girl's  inheritance  secured  to 
her  —  this  had  been  the  purpose  in  his  mind  from  first  to 
last. 

And  this  was  his  reward! 

True,  that  purpose  would  not  have  embroiled  him  with 
her  if  it  had  not  become  entwined  with  another  —  with  the 
resolve  to  pluck  her  and  hers  from  the  abyss  into  which 
they  were  bent  on  flinging  themselves.  It  was  that  resolu- 
tion which  had  made  her  his  enemy  to  this  point.  But  he 
could  not  regret  that  —  he  who  had  seen  war  in  all  its 
cruel  phases,  and  fierce  rebellions,  and  more  cruel  repres- 
sions. Perish  —  though  he  perished  himself  in  this  cold 
prison  —  perish  the  thought!  For  even  now  some  heat 
was  kindled  in  him  by  the  reflection  that,  whatever  befell 
him,  he  had  saved  scores  from  misery,  a  countryside  from 
devastation,  women  and  children  from  the  worst  of  fates. 
And  though  he  never  saw  the  sun  again,  he  would  at  least 
pass  beyond  with  full  hands,  and  with  the  knowledge 
that  for  every  life  he,  the  soldier  of  fortune,  had  taken,  he 
had  saved  ten. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  he  roused  himself.  He  was  very 
cold,  and  that  could  only  be  mended  by  such  exercise  as 


248  THE  WILD   GEESE 

the  size  of  his  prison  permitted.  He  set  himself  to  walk 
briskly  up  and  down.  When  he  had  taken  a  few  turns, 
however,  he  paused  with  his  eyes  on  the  table.  The 
candles  ?  They  would  serve  him  the  longer  if  he  burned 
but  one  at  a  time.  He  extinguished  three.  The  deed  ? 
He  might  burn  it,  and  so  put  the  temptation,  which  he 
was  too  wise  to  despise,  out  of  reach.  But  he  had  noticed 
in  one  corner  a  few  half-charred  fragments  of  wood,  damp 
indeed,  but  such  as  might  be  kindled  by  coaxing.  He 
would  preserve  the  deed  for  the  purpose  of  kindling  the 
wood;  and  the  fire,  as  his  only  luxury,  he  would  postpone 
until  he  needed  it  more  sorely.  In  the  end  the  table  and 
the  chairs  —  or  all  but  one  should  eke  out  his  fuel;  and  he 
would  sleep.     But  not  yet. 

He  had  no  desire  to  die;  and  with  warmth  he  knew  that 
he  could  put  up  for  a  long  time  with  the  lack  of  food. 
Every  hour  during  which  he  had  the  strength  and  courage 
to  bear  up  against  privation  increased  his  chances ;  it  was 
impossible  to  say  what  might  not  happen  with  time.  Uncle 
Ulick  was  due  to  return  in  a  week  —  and  Bale.  Or  his 
jailers  might  relent.  Nay,  they  must  relent  for  their  own 
sakes,  if  he  bore  a  stout  heart  and  held  out;  for  until  the 
deed  was  signed  they  dared  not  let  him  perish. 

That  was  a  good  thought.  They  could  put  him  on  the 
rack,  but  they  dared  not  push  the  torment  so  far  as  to 
endanger  his  life.  He  must  tighten  his  belt,  he  must  eke 
out  his  fuel,  he  must  bear  equably  the  pangs  of  appetite; 
after  all,  in  comparison  with  the  perils  and  privations 
through  which  he  had  passed  on  the  cruel  plains  of  Eastern 


PEINE    FORTE    ET    DURE        249 

Europe,  and  among  a  barbarous  people,  this  was  a  small 
thing. 

Or  it  would  have  been  a  small  thing  if  that  sadness  at  the 
heart  which  had  held  him  motionless  so  long  had  not  still 
bowed  his  head  upon  his  breast.  A  small  thing!  a  few 
hours,  a  few  days  even  of  hunger  and  cold  and  physical 
privation  —  no  more!  But  when  it  was  overpast,  and  he 
had  suffered  and  was  free,  to  what  could  he  look  forward  ? 
What  prospect  stretched  beyond,  save  one  gray,  dull,  and 
sunless,  a  homeless  middle  age,  an  old  age  without  solace  ? 
He  was  wounded  in  the  house  of  his  friend,  and  felt  not  the 
pain  only,  but  the  sorrow.  In  a  little  while  he  would 
remember  that,  if  he  had  not  to  take,  he  had  still  to  give: 
if  he  had  not  to  enjoy,  he  had  still  to  do.  Already 
shadowy  plans  rose  before  him. 

His  had  been  a  mad  fancy,  a  foolish  fancy,  a  fancy  of 
which  —  for  how  many  years  rolled  between  him  and  the 
girl,  and  how  many  things  done,  suffered,  seen  —  he  should 
have  known  the  outcome.  But  it  had  mastered  him  slowly, 
not  so  much  against  his  will  as  without  his  knowledge; 
until  he  had  awakened  one  day  to  find  himself  possessed 
by  a  madness,  the  more  powerful  because  he  was  no  longer 
young.  By  and  by,  for  a  certainty,  the  man's  sense  of 
duty,  the  principles  that  had  ruled  him  so  long,  would 
assert  themselves.  He  would  go  back  to  the  Baltic 
lands,  the  barren,  snow-bitten  lands  of  his  prime,  a 
grayer,  older,  more  sombre  —  but  not  an  unhappy  man. 

Something  of  this  he  told  himself  as  he  paced  up  and 
down  the  gloomy  chamber,  while  the  flame  of  the  candle 


250  THEWILDGEESE 

crept  steadily  downward.  It  must  be  midnight;  it  must 
be  two;  it  must  be  three  in  the  morning.  The  loopholes, 
when  he  stood  between  them  and  the  candle,  were  growing 
gray;  the  birds  were  beginning  to  chirp.  Presently  the 
sun  would  rise,  and  through  the  narrow  windows  he  would 
see  its  beams  flashing  on  the  distant  water.  But  the 
windows  looked  north-west,  and  many  hours  must  pass 
before  a  ray  would  strike  into  his  dungeon. 

The  candle  was  beginning  to  burn  low,  and  it  seemed 
a  pity  to  light  another,  with  the  daylight  peering  in.  But 
if  he  did  not,  he  would  lack  the  means  to  light  his  fire. 
And  he  was  eager  to  do  without  the  fire  as  long  as  possible. 
He  was  cold  now,  but  he  would  be  colder  by  and  by,  and 
his  need  of  the  fire  v/ould  be  greater. 

From  that  the  time  wore  wearily  on  to  the  breakfast 
hour.  The  sun  was  high  now;  the  birds  were  singing 
sweetly  in  the  rough  brakes  and  brambles  about  the 
Tower;  far  away  on  the  shining  lake,  of  which  only  the 
farther  end  lay  within  his  sight,  three  men  were  fishing 
from  a  boat.  He  watched  them ;  now  and  again  he  caught 
the  tiny  splash  as  they  flung  the  bait  far  out.  So  watching, 
with  no  thought  or  expectation  of  it,  he  fell  asleep,  and 
slept,  for  five  or  six  hours,  the  sleep  of  which  excitement 
had  cheated  him  through  the  night.  In  warmth,  morning 
and  evening,  night  and  day  differed  little  in  that  sunken 
room.  Still  the  air  in  it  profited  a  little  by  the  high  sun; 
and  he  awoke,  not  only  less  weary,  but  warmer.  But, 
alas!  he  awoke  also  hungry. 

He  stood  up  and  stretched  himself;    and,  seeing  that 


PEINE    FORTE    ET    DURE        251 

two-thirds  of  the  second  candle  had  burned  away  while 
he  slept,  he  was  thankful  that  he  had  lit  it.  He  tried  to 
put  away  the  visions  of  hot  bacon,  cold  round,  and  swe^t 
brown  bread  that  rose  before  him.  He  wondered  how  far 
the  plot  would  be  carried;  and  thus  mind  got  the  better 
of  body,  and  he  forgot  his  appetite  in  a  thought  more 
engrossing. 

Would  she  come  ?  Every  twenty-four  hours,  her  letter 
said,  a  person  would  visit  him.  Would  she  be  the  person  ? 
It  was  wonderful  with  what  interest,  nay,  with  what  agita- 
tion, he  dwelt  on  this.  How  would  she  look  ?  how  would 
she  bear  herself  ?  how  would  she  meet  his  eye  ?  Would  she 
shun  his  gaze,  or  would  she  face  it  without  flinching,  with 
a  steady  colour  and  a  smiling  lip  ?  If  the  latter  were  the 
case,  would  it  be  the  same  when  hours  and  days  of  fasting 
had  hollowed  his  cheeks,  and  given  to  his  eyes  the  glare 
which  he  had  seen  in  many  a  wretched  peasant's  eyes  in 
those  distant  lands?  Would  she  still  be  able  to  view  his 
sufferings  without  a  qualm,  and  turn,  firm  in  her  cruel 
purpose,  from  the  dumb  pleading  of  his  hunger  ? 

"  God  forbid ! "  he  cried.     "  Ah !  God  forbid ! " 

And  he  prayed  that,  rather  than  have  that  last  proof  of 
hardness  of  heart,  he  might  not  see  her  at  all.  Yet,  so 
W'Cak  are  men  —  to  see  her  come,  to  see  how  she  bore 
herself,  was  now  the  one  hope  that  had  power  to  lighten  the 
time,  and  keep  at  bay  the  attacks  of  hunger!  He  had 
fasted  twenty-four  hours. 

The  thought  possessed  him  to  an  extraordinary  extent. 
W^ould  she  come  ?     Or,  having  lured  him  into  his  enemies' 


252  THEWILDGEESE 

power,  would  she  leave  him  to  be  treated  as  they  chose, 
while  she  lay  warm  and  safe  in  the  house  which  his  inter- 
ference had  saved  for  her? 

Oh!  cruel! 

Then  the  very  barbarity  of  an  action  so  unwomanly 
suggested  that,  viewed  from  her  side,  it  must  wear  another 
shape.  What  was  this  girl  gaining?  Revenge,  yes;  yet, 
if  they  kept  faith  with  him,  and,  the  deed  signed,  let  him 
go  free,  she  had  not  even  revenge.  For  the  rest,  she  lost 
by  the  deed.  All  that  her  grandfather  had  meant  for  her 
passed  by  it  to  her  brother.  To  lend  herself  to  stripping 
herself  was  not  the  part  of  a  selfish  woman.  Even  in  her 
falseness  there  was  something  magnanimous. 

He  was  still  staring  dreamily  at  the  table  when  a  shadow 
falling  on  the  table  roused  him.  He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the 
nearest  loophole,  through  which  the  setting  sun  had  been 
darting  its  rays  a  moment  before.  Morty  O'Beirne  bend- 
ing almost  double  —  for  outside,  the  arrow-slit  was  not 
more  than  two  feet  from  the  ground  —  was  peering  in. 

"Ye  '11  not  have  changed  your  quarters.  Colonel,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  raillery  which  was  assumed  perhaps  to 
hide  a  real  feeling  of  shame.  "Sure,  you  're  there, 
Colonel,  safe  enough?" 

"Yes,  I  am  here,"  Colonel  John  answered  austerely. 
He  did  not  leave  his  seat  at  the  table. 

"And  as  much  at  home  as  a  mole  in  a  hill,"  Morty 
continued.  "And,  like  that  same  blessed  little  fellow  in 
black  velvet  that  I  take  my  hat  off  to,  with  lashings  of  time 
for  thinking." 


PEINE    FORTE    ET    DURE        253 

"So  much,"  Colonel  John  answered,  with  the  same 
severe  look,  "  that  I  am  loth  to  think  ill  of  any.  Are  you 
alone,  Mr.  O'Beirne?" 

"  Faith,  and  who  'd  there  be  with  me  ?"  Morty  answered 
in  true  Irish  fashion. 

"  I  cannot  say.     I  ask  only,  are  you  alone  ?  " 

"Then  I  am,  and  that's  the  truth,"  Morty  replied, 
peering  inquisitively  into  the  corners  of  the  gloomy  cham- 
ber. "More  by  token  I  wish  you  no  worse  than  just  to 
be  doing  as  you  're  bid  —  and  faith,  it 's  but  what 's  right ! 
—  and  go  your  way.  'T  is  a  cold,  damp,  unchancy  place 
you  'v'e  chosen.  Colonel,"  he  continued,  with  a  grin;  "like 
nothino;  in  all  the  wide  world  so  much  as  that  same  mole- 
hill.  Well,  glory  be,  it  can't  be  said  I  'm  one  for  talking; 
but,  if  you  're  asking  my  advice,  you  '11  be  wiser  acting 
first  than  last,  and  full  than  empty!" 

"I  'm  not  of  that  opinion,  sir,"  Colonel  John  replied, 
looking  at  him  with  the  same  stern  eyes. 

"Then  I  'm  thinking  you  're  not  as  hungry  as  I  'd  be! 
And  not  the  least  taste  in  life  to  stay  my  stomach  for  twenty- 

« 

four  hours!" 

"  It  has  happened  to  me  before,"  Colonel  John  answered. 

"You  're  not  for  signing  then?" 

"I  am  not." 

"  Don't  be  saying  that.  Colonel ! "  Morty  rejoined.  "  It's 
not  yet  awhile,  you  're  meaning?" 

"Neither  now  nor  ever."  Colonel  John  answered. 
"I  quote  from  yourself,  sir.  As  well  say  it  first  as  last, 
and  full  as  empty!" 


254  THEWILDGEESE 

"Sure,  and  ye  '11  be  thinking  better  of  it  by  and  by, 
Colonel." 

"No." 

"Ah,  you  will,"  Morty  retorted,  in  that  tone  which  to  a 
mind  made  up  is  worse  than  a  blister.  "Sure,  ye  '11  not 
be  so  hard-hearted,  Colonel,  as  to  refuse  a  lady!  It 's 
not  Kerry-born  you  are,  and  say  the  word  '  No'  that  easy!" 

"Do  not  deceive  yourself,  sir,"  Colonel  John  answered 
severely,  and  with  a  darker  look.  "I  shall  not  give  way 
either  to-day  or  to-morrow." 

"Nor  the  next  day?" 

"  Nor  the  next  day." 

"  Not  if  the  lady  asks  you  herself  ?     Come,  Colonel." 

Colonel  John  rose  sharply  from  his  seat;  such  patience, 
as  a  famished  man  has,  come  to  an  end. 

" Sir,"  he  said,  "if  this  is  all  you  have  to  say  to  me,  I  have 
your  message,  and  I  prefer  to  be  alone." 

Morty  grinned  at  him  a  moment,  then  with  an  Irish 
shrug,  he  gave  way.     "As  you  will,"  he  said. 

He  withdrew  himself  suddenly,  and  the  sunset  light 
darted  into  the  room  through  the  narrow  window,  dimming 
the  candle's  rays.  The  Colonel  heard  him  laugh  as  he 
strode  away  across  the  platform  and  down  the  hill.  A 
moment  and  the  sounds  ceased.  He  was  gone.  The 
Colonel  was  alone. 

Until  this  time  to-morrow!  Twenty-four  hours.  Yes, 
he  must  tighten  his  belt. 

Morty,  poking  his  head  this  way  and  that,  peering  into 


PEINE    FORTE    ET    DURE        255 

the  chamber  as  he  had  peered  yesterday,  wished  he  could 
see  Colonel  John's  face.  But  Colonel  John,  bending 
resolutely  over  the  handful  of  embers  that  glowed  in  an 
inner  angle  of  the  room,  showed  only  his  back.  Even  that 
Morty  could  not  see  plainly;  for  the  last  of  the  candles  had 
burned  out,  and  in  the  chamber,  dark  in  comparison  with 
the  open  air,  the  crouching  figure  was  no  more  than  a 
shapeless  mass  obscuring  the  glow  of  the  fuel. 

Morty  shaded  his  eyes  and  peered  more  closely.  He 
was  not  a  sensitive  person,  and  he  was  obeying  orders. 
But  he  was  not  quite  comfortable. 

"  And  that 's  your  last  word  ?  "  he  said  slowly.  "  Come, 
Colonel  dear,  ye  '11  say  something  more  to  that." 

"That 's  my  last  word  to-day,"  Colonel  John  answered 
as  slowly,  and  without  turning  his  head. 

"Honour  bright?  Won't  ye  think  better  of  it  before  I 
go?" 

"I  will  not." 

Morty  paused,  to  tell  the  truth,  in  extreme  exasperation. 
He  had  no  great  liking  for  the  part  he  was  playing;  but 
why  could  n't  the  man  be  reasonable  ?  "  You  're  sure  of  it, 
Colonel,"  he  said. 

Colonel  John  did  not  answer. 

"And  I  'm  to  tell  her  so  ?"  Morty  concluded. 

Colonel  John  rose  sharply,  as  if  at  last  the  other  tried 
him  too  far.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "tell  her  that!  Or," 
lowering  his  voice  and  his  hand,  "do  not  tell  her,  as  you 
please.     That  is  my  last  word,  sir!     Let  me  be." 

But  it  was  not  his  last  word.     For  as  Morty  turned  to  go, 


256  THEWILDGEESE 

the  Colonel  heard  him  speak  —  in  a  lower  and  a  different 
tone.  At  the  same  moment,  or  his  eyes  deceived  him,  a 
shadow  that  was  not  Morty  O'Beirne's  fell  for  one  second 
on  the  splayed  wall  inside  the  window.  It  was  gone  as 
soon  as  seen ;  but  Colonel  John  had  seen  it,  and  he  sprang 
to  the  window. 

"Flavia!"  he  cried.     "Flavia!" 

He  paused  to  listen,  his  hand  on  the  wall  on  either  side 
of  the  opening.  His  face,  which  had  been  pinched  and 
haggard  a  moment  before,  was  now  flushed  by  the  sunset. 
Then  "Flavia!"  he  repeated,  keen  appeal  in  his  voice. 
"Flavia!" 

She  did  not  answer.  She  was  gone.  And  perhaps  it 
was  as  well.  He  listened  for  a  long  time,  but  in  vain;  and 
he  told  himself  again  that  it  was  as  well.  Why,  after  all, 
appeal  to  her  ?  How  could  it  avail  him  ?  Slowly  he  went 
back  to  his  chair  and  sat  down  in  the  old  attitude  over  the 
embers.     But  his  lip  quivered. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AN  UNWELCOME  VISITOR 

A  LITTLE  before  sunset  on  that  same  day  two  men 
stood  beside  the  entrance  at  Morristown  They 
^  were  staring  at  a  third,  who,  seated  nonchalantly 
upon  the  horse-block,  slapped  his  boot  with  his  riding 
switch,  and  made  as  poor  a  show  of  hiding  his  amuse- 
ment as  they  of  masking  their  disgust.  The  man 
who  slapped  his  leg  and  shaped  his  lips  to  a  silent 
whistle,  was  Major  Payton  of  the  — th.  The  men 
who  looked  at  him,  and  cursed  the  unlucky  star  which 
had  brought  him  thither,  were  Luke  Asgill  and  The 
McMurrough. 

"Faith,  and  I  should  have  thought,"  Asgill  said,  with  a 
clouded  face,  "that  my  presence  here,  Major,  and  I,  a 
justice " 

"True  for  you!"  Payton  said,  with  a  grin. 

"Should  have  been  enough  by  itself,  and  the  least  taste 
more  than  enough,  to  prove  the  absurdity  of  the  Castle's 
story." 

"True  for  you  again,"  Payton  replied.  "And  ain't  I 
saying  that  but  for  your  presence  here,  and  a  friend  at 
court  that  I  '11  not  name,  it 's  not  your  humble  servant  this 
gentleman  would  be  entertaining"  —  he  turned  to  The 

257 


258  THE   WILD   GEESE 

McMurrough  —  "but  half  a  company  and  a  sergeant's 
guard!" 

"I'm  allowing  it." 

"You  've  no  cause  to  do  other." 

"Nary  a  bit  I  'm  denying  it/'  Asgill  replied  more  amica- 
bly; and,  as  far  as  he  could,  he  cleared  his  face.  "It 's 
not  that  you  're  not  welcome.  Not  at  all,  Major!  Sure, 
and  I  '11  answer  for  it,  my  friend  The  McMurrough  is 
glad  to  welcome  any  English  gentleman,  much  more  one 
of  your  reputation." 

"Truth,  and  I  am,"  The  McMurrough  assented.  But 
he  had  not  Asgill's  self-control,  and  his  sulky  tone  belied 
his  words. 

"Still  —  I  come  at  an  awkward  time,  perhaps?"  Pay- 
ton  answered,  looking  with  a  grin  from  one  to  the  other. 

Partly  to  tease  Asgill,  whom  he  did  not  love  the  more 
because  he  owed  him  money,  and  partly  to  see  the  rustic 
beauty  whom,  rumour  had  it,  Asgill  was  courting  in  the 
wilds,  he  had  volunteered  to  do  with  three  or  four  troopers 
what  otherwise  a  half-company  would  have  been  sent  to  do. 
That  he  could  at  the  same  time  put  his  creditor  under  an 
obligation,  and  annoy  him,  had  not  been  the  least  part  of 
the  temptation;  while  no  one  at  Tralee  believed  the  story 
sent  down  from  Dublin. 

"Eh!  An  awkward  time,  perhaps  ?"  he  repeated,  look- 
ing at  The  McMurrough.     "Sorry,  I  'm  sure,  but " 

"I  'd  have  entertained  you  better,  I  'm  thinking,"  James 
McMurrough  said,  "if  I  'd  known  you  were  coming  before 
you  came." 


AN    UNWELCOME    VISITOR     259 

"Devil  a  doubt  of  it!"  said  Asgill,  whose  subtle  brain 
had  been  at  work.  "Not  that  it  matters,  bedad,  for  an 
Irish  gentleman  will  do  his  best.  And  to-morrow  Colonel 
Sullivan,  that 's  more  knowledge  of  the  mode  and  foreign 
ways,  will  be  back,  and  he  '11  be  helping  his  cousin.  More 
by  token,"  he  added,  in  a  different  tone,  "you  know  him 
of  old?" 

Payton,  who  had  frowned  at  the  name,  reddened  at  the 
question,  "Is  that,"  he  asked,  "the  Colonel  Sullivan 
who " 

"Who  tried  the  foils  with  Lemoine  at  Tralee?"  Asgill 
cried  heartily.  "The  same  and  no  other!  He  is  away 
to-day,  but  he  '11  be  returning  to-morrow,  and  he  '11  be 
delighted  to  see  you!  And  by  good  luck,  there  are  foils  in 
the  house,  and  he  '11.  pass  the  time  pleasantly  with  you. 
It 's  he  's  the  hospitable  creature!" 

Payton  was  anything  but  anxious  to  see  the  man  whose 
skill  had  turned  the  joke  against  him;  and  his  face  betok- 
ened his  feelings.  Had  he  foreseen  the  meeting  he  would 
have  left  the  job  to  a  subaltern.  "  Hang  it! "  he  exclaimed, 
vexed  by  the  recollection,  "a  fine  mess  you  led  me  into 
there,  Asgill!" 

"I  did  not  know  him  then,"  Asgill  replied  lightly. 
"And,  pho!  Take  my  word  for  it,  he  's  no  man  to  bear 
malice!" 

"Malice,  begad!"  Payton  answered,  ill-humouredly; 
"I  think  it's  I " 

"Ah,  you  are  right  again,  to  be  sure!"  Asgill  agreed, 
laughing  silently.     For  already  he  had  formed  a  hope  that 


260  THEWILDGEESE 

the  guest  might  he  manoeuvred  out  of  the  house  on  the 
morrow.  He  knew  Payton.  He  knew  the  man's  arro- 
gance, the  contempt  in  which  be  held  the  Irish,  his  view  of 
them  as  an  inferior  race.  He  was  sure  that,  if  he  saw 
Flavia  and  fancied  her,  he  was  capable  of  any  outrage ;  or, 
if  he  learned  her  position  in  regard  to  the  estate,  he  might 
prove  a  formidable,  if  an  honourable,  competitor.  In 
either  case,  to  hasten  the  man's  departure,  and  to  induce 
Flavia  to  remain  in  the  background  in  the  meantime, 
became  Asgill's  chief  aim. 

James  McMurrough,  on  the  other  hand,  saw  in  the 
unwelcome  intruder  an  English  officer;  and,  troubled  by 
his  guilty  conscience,  he  dreaded  above  all  things  what  he 
might  discover.  True,  the  past  was  past,  the  plot  spent, 
the  Spanish  ship  gone.  But  the  Colonel  remained,  and  in 
durance.  And  if  by  any  chance  the  Englishman 
stumbled  on  him,  heard  his  story,  and  lived  to  carry  it 
back  to  Tralee  —  the  consequences  might  be  such  that  a 
cold  sweat  broke  out  on  the  young  man's  brow  at  the 
thought  of  them.  To  add  to  his  alarm,  Payton,  whose 
mind  was  secretly  occupied  with  the  Colonel,  sought  to 
evince  his  indifference  by  changing  the  subject,  and  in 
doing  so,  hit  on  one  singularly  unfortunate. 

"A  pretty  fair  piece  of  water,"  he  said,  rising  with  an 
affected  yawn.  "The  tower  at  the  head  of  it  —  it's 
grown  too  dark  to  see  it  —  is  it  inhabited?" 

The  McMurrough  started  guiltily.  "The  tower?" 
he  stammered.  Could  it  be  that  the  man  knew  all,  and 
was  here  to  expose  him  ?     His  heart  stood  still,  then  raced. 


AN    UNWELCOME    VISITOR     261 

"The  Major  '11  be  meaning  the  tower  on  the  rock," 
Asgill  said  smoothly,  but  with  a  warning  look.  "Ah, 
sure,  it  '11  be  used  at  times,  Major,  for  a  prison,  you 
understand." 

"Oh!" 

"  But  we  '11  be  better  to  be  moving  inside,  I  'm  thinking," 
he  continued, 

Payton  assented.  He  was  still  brooding  on  his  enemy, 
the  Colonel.  Curse  the  man,  he  was  thinking.  Why 
could  n't  he  keep  out  of  his  way? 

"Take  the  Major  in,  McMurrough,"  Asgill  said,  who 
feared  Flavia  and  Morty  O'Beirne  might  arrive  from  the 
Tower.  "You  '11  like  to  get  rid  of  your  boots  before 
supper,  Major?"  he  went  on.  "Bid  Darby  send  the 
Major's  man  to  him,  McMurrough;  or,  better,  I  '11  be 
going  to  the  stables  myself  and  I  '11  be  telling  him!" 

As  the  others  went  in,  Asgill  strolled  toward  the  stables. 
But  when  they  had  passed  out  of  sight  he  turned  and 
walked  along  the  lake  to  meet  the  girl  and  her  companion. 
As  he  walked  he  had  time  to  decide  how  he  might  best 
deal  with  Flavia,  and  how  much  he  should  tell  her.  When 
he  met  them,  therefore  —  by  this  time  the  night  was  falling 
■ —  his  first  question  related  to  that  which  an  hour  before 
had  been  the  one  pre-occupation  of  all  their  minds. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "he  '11  not  have  yielded  yet,  I  am 
thinking?" 

Dark  as  it  was,  the  girl  averted  her  face  to  hide  the 
trouble  in  her  eyes.  She  shook  her  head.  "  No,"  she  said, 
"he  has  not." 


262  THEWILDGEESE 

"  I  did  not  count  on  it,"  Asgill  replied  cheerfully.  "  But 
time  —  time  and  hunger  and  patience  —  not  a  doubt  he  '11 
give  in  presently." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  he  fancied  —  she  kept  her  face 
averted  —  that  she  shivered. 

"While  you  have  been  away,  something  has  happened," 
he  continued.  After  all,  it  was  perhaps  as  well,  he 
reflected,  that  Payton  had  come.  His  coming,  even  if 
Flavia  did  not  encounter  him,  would  prevent  her  dwelling 
too  long  on  that  room  in  the  Tower,  and  on  the  man  who 
famished  there.  She  hated  the  Colonel,  Asgill  believed. 
She  had  hated  him,  he  was  sure.  But  how  long  would 
she  continue  to  hate  him  in  these  circumstances?  How 
long  if  she  learned  what  were  the  Colonel's  feelings  toward 
her?  "An  unwelcome  guest  has  come,"  he  continued 
glibly,  "and  one  that  '11  be  giving  trouble,  I  'm  fearing." 

"A  guest?"  Flavia  repeated  in  astonishment.  She 
halted.  What  time  for  guests  was  this?  "And  unwel- 
come?" she  added.     "Who  is  it?" 

"An  English  officer,"  Asgill  explained,  "from  Tralee. 
He  is  saying  that  the  Castle  has  heard  something,  and  has 
sent  him  here  to  look  about  him." 

Naturally  the  danger  seemed  greater  to  the  two  than  to 
Asgill,  who  knew  his  man.  Words  of  dismay  broke  from 
Flavia  and  O'Beirne.  "From  Tralee?  "she  cried.  "And 
an  English  officer  ?     Good  heavens !     Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"I  do,"  Asgill  answered  confidently.  "And  I  can 
manage  him.  I  hold  him,  like  that,  not  the  least  doubt 
of  it ;   but  the  less  we  '11  be  doing  for  him  the  sooner 


AN     UNWELCOME    VISITOR     263 

he  '11  be  going,  and  the  safer  we  '11  be!  I  would  not  be  so 
bold  as  to  advise,"  he  continued  diffidently,"  but  I  'm  think- 
ing it  would  be  no  worse  if  you  left  him  to  be  entertained 
by  the  men." 

"I  will!"  she  cried.  "Why  should  I  be  wanting  to 
see    him?" 

"Then  I  think  he  '11  be  ordering  his  horse  to-morrow!" 

"I  wish  he  were  gone  now!"  she  cried. 

"All,  so  do  I!"  he  replied,  from  his  heart. 

"I  will  go  in  through  the  garden,"  she  said. 

He  assented.  She  turned  aside,  and  for  a  moment  he 
bent  to  the  temptation  to  go  v/ith  her.  He  was  sure  that 
she  had  begun,  not  only  to  suffer  his  company,  but  to  suffer 
it  willingly.  And  here,  as  she  passed  through  the  darkling 
garden,  was  an  opportunity  of  making  a  further  advance. 
She  would  have  to  grope  her  way,  a  reason  for  taking  her 
hand  might  offer,  and  —  his  head  grew  hot  at  the  thought. 

But  he  thrust  the  temptation  from  him.  He  knew  that 
it  was  not  only  the  stranger's  presence  that  weighed  her 
down,  but  her  recollection  of  the  man  in  the  tower  and  his 
miserable  plight. 

As  he  went  on  with  Morty,  he  gave  him  a  hint  to  say  as 
little  in  Payton's  presence  as  possible.  "  I  know  the  man," 
he  explained,  "and  where  he  's  weak.  I  'm  for  seeing  the 
back  of  him  as  soon  as  we  can,  but  without  noise." 

"There  's  always  the  bog,"  grumbled  Morty. 

"And  the  garrison  at  Tralee,"  Asgill  rejoined  drily, 
"to  ask  where  he  is!  And  his  troopers  to  answer  the 
question." 


264  THEWILDGEESE 

Morty  bade  him  manage  it  his  own  way.  "Only  I  '11 
trouble  you  not  to  blame  me,"  he  added,  "if  the  English 
soger  finds  the  Colonel,  and  ruins  us  entirely." 

"I'll  not,"  Asgill  answered  pithily,  "if  so  be  you'll 
hold  your  tongue." 

So  at  supper  that  night  Payton  looked  in  vain  for  the 
Kerry  beauty  whose  charms  the  warmer  wits  of  the  mess 
had  more  than  once  painted  in  hues  rather  florid  than  fit. 
Nevertheless  he  would  have  enjoyed  himself  tolerably  — 
nor  the  less  because  now  and  again  he  let  his  contempt 
for  the  company  peep  from  under  his  complaisance  — 
but  for  the  obtuseness  of  his  friend;  who,  as  if  he  had  only 
one  man  and  one  idea  in  his  head,  let  fall  with  every 
moment  some  mention  of  Colonel  John.  Now,  it  was  the 
happy  certainty  of  the  Colonel's  return  next  day  that 
inspired  his  eloquence;  now,  the  pleasure  with  which  the 
Colonel  would  meet  Payton  again;  now,  the  lucky  chance 
that  found  a  pair  of  new  foils  on  the  window  ledge. 

"  For  he  's  ruined  entirely  and  no  one  to  play  with  him ! " 
Asgill  continued,  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "No  one,  I  'm 
meaning.  Major,  of  his  sort  of  force  at  all!  Begad,  boys, 
you  '11  see  some  fine  fencing  for  once!  Ye  '11  think  ye  've 
never  seen  any  before  I  'm  doubting!" 

"I  'm  not  sure  that  I  can  remain  to-morrow,"  Payton 
said  in  a  surly  tone.  He  began  to  suspect  that  Asgill  was 
quizzing  him.  He  noticed  that  every  time  the  justice 
named  Colonel  Sullivan,  men  looked  furtively  at  one 
another,  or  straight  before  them,  as  if  they  were  in  a  design. 
If  that  were  so,  the  design  could  only  be  to  pit  Colonel 


AN    UNWELCOME    VISITOR     2G5 

Sullivan  against  him,  or  to  provoke  a  quarrel  between  them. 
He  felt  a  qualm  of  apprehension,  and  he  was  confirmed  in 
the  plan  he  had  already  formed  —  to  be  gone  next  day. 
But  in  the  meantime  his  temper  moved  him  to  carry  the 
war  into  the  enemy's  country. 

"I  didn't  know,"  he  snarled,  taking  Asgill  up  in  the 
middle  of  a  eulogy  of  Colonel  John's  skill,  "that  he  was 
so  great  a  favourite  of  yours." 

"He  was  not,"  Asgill  replied,  drily. 

"He  is  now,  it  seems!"  in  the  same  sneering  tone. 

"We  know  him  better.     Don't  we  boys?" 

They  murmured  assent. 

"And  the  lady  whose  horse  I  sheltered  for  you,"  the 
]\Iajor  continued,  spitefully  watching  for  an  opening  — 
"confound  you,  little  you  thanked  me  for  it!  — she  must 
be  still  more  in  his  interest  than  you  ?  And  how  does  that 
suit  vour  book?" 

Asgill  had  great  self-control,  and  the  Major  was  not  a 
close  observer.  But  the  thrust  was  so  unexpected  that  on 
the  instant  Payton  read  the  other  secret  in  his  eyes  —  knew 
that  he  loved,  and  knew  that  he  was  jealous.  Jealous  of 
Sullivan!  Jealous  of  the  man  whom  he  was  for  some 
reason  praising.  Then  why  not  jealous  of  a  younger, 
a  more  fashionable  rival  ?  Asgill's  cunningly  reared  plans 
began  to  sink,  and  even  while  he  answered  he  knew  it. 

"She  likes  him,"  he  said,  "as  we  all  do." 

"Some  more,  some  less,"  Payton  answered  with  a  grin. 

"Just  so,"  the  Irishman  returned,  controlling  himself. 
"Some  more,  some  less.     And  why  not,  I  'm  asking." 


2m  THE  WILD   GEESE 

"  I  think  I  must  stav  over  to-nion\nv,"  Pavton  romarkod, 
smilinir  at  the  ceilmir.  "There  must  be  a  e:ood  deal  to  be 
seen  here." 

"Ah,  there  is,"  Asgill  answered  in  apparent  good 
humour. 

"AYorth  seeing,  too,  I'll  be  sworn  1"  tlie  Englishman 
replied,  smiling  more  broadly. 

"And  that  's  true,  too!"  the  other  rejoined. 

He  had  himself  in  hand;  and  it  was  not  from  him  that 
the  proposal  to  break  up  the  party  came.  The  Major  it 
was  who  at  last  pleaded  fatigue.  Englishmen's  heads, 
he  said,  were  stronger  than  their  stomachs;  they  were  a 
match  for  port,  but  not  for  claret. 

"You  should  correct  it,  ISIajor,  with  a  little  cognac," 
The  McMurrough  suggested  politely. 

"Not  to-night;  and,  by  your  leave,  I  '11  have  my  man 
called  and  go  to  bed." 

"  It's  early,"  James  McMurrough  said,  playing  the  host. 

"It  is,  but  I  '11  have  my  man  and  go  to  bed,"  Pay  ton 
answered,  with  true  British  obstinacy.  "No  offence  to 
any  gentleman." 

"There  's  none  will  take  it  here,"  Asgill  answered. 
"An  Irishman's  house  is  his  guest's  castle."  But,  know- 
ing that  Payton  liked  his  glass,  he  wondered;  until  it 
occurred  to  him  that  the  other  wished  to  have  his  haml 
steady  for  the  sword-play  next  day. 

The  IMc^NIurrough,  who  had  risen,  took  a  liirht  and 
attended  his  guest  to  his  room.  Asgill  and  the  O'Beirnes 
remained  seated  at  the  table,  the  young  men  scoffing  at 


AN    UNWELCOME    VISITOR     267 

the  Englishman's  conceit  of  himself,  Asgill  silent  and 
downcast.  His  scheme  for  ridding  himself  of  Payton  had 
failed;  it  remained  to  face  the  situation.  He  did  not 
distrust  Flavia,  but  he  distrusted  Payton  —  his  insolence, 
his  violence,  and  the  privileged  position  which  his  duellist's 
skill  gave  him.  And  then  there  was  Colonel  John.  If 
Payton  learned  what  was  afoot  at  the  tower,  and  saw  his 
way  to  make  use  of  it,  the  worst  might  happen  to  all 
concerned. 

He  looked  up  at  a  touch  from  Morty,  and  to  his  astonish- 
ment he  saw  Flavia  standing  at  the  end  of  the  table. 
There  was  a  hasty  scrambling  to  the  feet,  for  the  men  had 
not  drunk  deep,  and  by  all  in  the  house  —  except  her 
brother  —  the  girl  was  treated  with  respect. 

"I  was  thinking,"  Asgill  said,  foreseeing  trouble,  "that 
you  were  in  bed  and  asleep."  Her  hair  was  tied  back 
negligently  and  her  dress  half-fastened  at  the  throat. 

"I  cannot  sleep,"  she  answered.  And  then  she  stood 
a  moment  drumming  with  her  slender  fingers  on  the 
table,  and  the  men  noticed  that  she  was  unusually  pale. 
"I  cannot  sleep,"  she  repeated,  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 
"I  keep  thinking  of  him.  I  want  some  one  —  to  go  to 
him." 

"Now?" 

"Now!" 

"But,"  Asgill  said  slowly,  "I  'm  thinking  that  to  do  that 
were  to  give  him  hopes.  It  were  to  spoil  all.  Once  in 
twenty-four  hours  —  that  was  agreed.  And  it  is  not  four 
hours  since  you  were  there.     If  there  is  one  thing  needful, 


268  THEWILDGEESE 

not  the  least  doubt  of  it!  —  it  is  to  leave  him  thinking  that 
we  're  meaning  it." 

He  spoke  reasonably.  But  the  girl  laboured  under  a 
weight  of  agitation  that  did  not  suffer  her  to  reason. 
"  But  if  he  dies  ?  "  she  cried  in  a  woeful  tone.  "  If  he  dies 
of  hunger  ?  Oh,  my  God,  of  hunger!  What  have  we  done 
then?  I  tell  you,"  she  continued,  "I  cannot  bear  it!  I 
cannot  bear  it!"  She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  as 
appealing  to  each  in  turn  to  share  her  horror,  and  to  act. 
It  is  wicked,  it  is  wicked!"  she  continued,  in  a  shriller 
tone  and  with  a  note  of  defiance  in  her  voice,  "and  who 
will  answer  for  it  if  he  dies  ?  I,  not  you!  I,  who  tricked 
him,  who  lied  to  him,  who  lured  him  there!" 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  stricken  silence  in  the  room. 
Then,  "And  what  had  he  done  to  you?"  Asgill  retorted 
with  spirit  —  for  he  saw  that  if  he  did  not  meet  her  on  her 
own  plane  she  was  capable  of  any  act,  however  ruinous. 
"Or,  if  not  to  you,  to  Ireland,  to  your  King,  to  your  coun- 
try, to  your  hopes  ?"  He  flung  into  his  voice  all  the  indig- 
nation of  which  he  was  master.  "  A  trick,  you  say  ?  Was 
it  not  by  a  trick  he  ruined  all  ?  The  fairest  prospect,  the 
brightest  day  that  ever  dawned  for  Ireland!  The  day  of 
freedom,  of  liberty,  of " 

She  twisted  her  fingers  feverishly  together. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "yes!  Yes,  but  —  I  can't  bear  it! 
It  is  no  use  talking,"  she  continued,  with  a  violent  shudder. 
"You  are  here — look! "  she  pointed  to  the  table  strewn  with 
the  remains  of  the  meal.  "But  he  is  —  starving!  Starv- 
ing! "she  repeated,  as  if  the  physical  pain  touched  herself. 


AN    UNWELCOME    VISITOR     269 

"You  shall  go  to  him  to-morrow!  Go,  yourself!"  he 
replied  in  a  soothing  tone. 

"I!"  she  cried.     "Never!" 

"Oh,  but "  Asgill  began,  perplexed  but  not  sur- 
prised by  her  attitude.  "But  there  's  your  brother,"  he 
continued,  relieved.  "He  will  tell  you,  I'm  sure,  that 
nothing  can  be  so  harmful  as  to  change  now.  Your 
sister,"  he  went  on,  addressing  The  McMurrough,  who 
had  just  descended  the  stairs,  "she  's  wishing  some  one 
will  go  to  the  Colonel,  and  see  if  he  's  down  a  peg.  But 
I  'm  telling  her " 

"It 's  folly  entirely,  you  should  be  telling  her!"  James 
McMurrough  replied,  curtly  and  roughly.  "To-morrow 
at  sunset,  and  not  an  hour  earlier,  he  '11  be  visited.  And 
then  it  '11  be  you,  Flav\7,  that  '11  speak  to  him!  What 
more  is  it  you  're  wanting  ? " 

"I  speak  to  him?"  she  cried.     "I  could  n't!" 

"But  it'll  be  you'll  have  to!"  he  replied  roughly. 
"Wasn't  it  so  arranged?" 

"I  could  n't,"  she  replied,  in  the  same  tone  of  trouble. 
"Some  one  else  —  if  you  like!" 

"But  it 's  not  some  one  else  will  do,"  James  retorted. 

"But  why  should  I  be  the  one  —  to  go?"  she  wailed. 
She  had  Colonel  John's  face  before  her,  haggard,  sunken, 
famished,  as,  peering  into  the  gloomy,  firelit  room,  she  had 
seen  it  that  afternoon. 

"For  a  very  good  reason,"  her  brother  retorted  with  a 
sneer.     He  looked  at  Asgill  and  laughed. 

That  look  startled    her    as    a  flash  of    light    startles 


270  THEWILDGEESE 

a  traveller  groping  through  darkness.  "Why?"  she 
repeated  in  a  different  tone. 

But  neither  her  tone  nor  Asgill's  glance  put  James 
McMurrough  on  his  guard;  he  was  in  one  of  his  brutal 
humours.  "Why?"  he  replied.  "Because  he's  a  silly 
fool,  as  I  'm  thinking  some  others  are,  and  has  a  fancy  for 
you,  Flawy!  Faith,  you're  not  blind!"  he  continued, 
"and  know  it,  I  '11  be  sworn,  as  well  as  I  do!  Any  way, 
I  've  a  notion  that  if  you  let  him  see  that  there  is  no  one  in 
the  house  wishes  him  worse  than  you,  or  would  see  him 
starve  with  a  lighter  heart  —  I  'm  thinking  it  will  be  for 
bringing  him  down,  if  anything  will!" 

She  did  not  answer.  Outwardly  she  was  not  much 
moved;  but  inwardly,  the  horror  of  herself  which  she  had 
felt  as  she  lay  upstairs  in  the  darkness,  thinking  of  the 
starving  man,  choked  her.  They  were  using  her  because 
the  man  —  loved  her!  Because  hard  words,  cruel  treat- 
ment, brutality  from  her  would  be  ten  times  more  hard, 
more  cruel,  more  brutal  than  from  others!  Because  such 
treatment  at  her  hands  would  be  more  likely  to  break  his 
spirit  and  crush  his  heart!  To  what  viler  use,  to  what 
lower  end,  could  a  woman  be  used  or  human  feeling  be 
prostituted  ? 

Nor  was  this  all.  On  the  tide  of  this  loathing  of  herself 
rose  another,  a  stranger  feeling.  The  man  loved  her.  She 
did  not  doubt  the  statement  Its  truth  came  home  to  her 
at  once.  And  because  it  placed  him  in  a  light  in  which  she 
had  never  viewed  him  before,  because  it  recalled  a  hundred 
things,  acts,  words  on  his  part  which  she  had  barely  noted 


AN    UNWELCOME    VISITOR     271 

at  the  time,  it  showed  him,  too,  as  one  whom  she  had 
never  seen.  Had  he  been  free,  prosperous,  triumphant, 
the  knowledge  that  he  loved  her,  that  he,  her  enemy,  loved 
her,  might  have  revolted  her  —  she  might  have  hated  him 
the  more  for  it.  But  now  that  he  lay  a  prisoner,  famished, 
starving,  the  fact  that  he  loved  her  touched  her  heart, 
transfixed  her  with  an  almost  poignant  feeling,  choked  her 
with  a  rising  flood  of  pity  and  self-reproach. 

"So  there  you  have  it.  Flawy!"  James  cried,  compla- 
cently. "And  sure,  you  '11  not  be  making  a  fool  of  your- 
self at  this  time  of  day!" 

She  stood  looking  at  him  with  strange  eyes,  thinking, 
not  answering.  Asgill  only  saw  a  burning  blush  dye  for 
an  instant  the  whiteness  of  her  face.  He  discovered,  with 
the  subtle  insight  of  one  who  loved,  a  part  of  what  she  was 
thinking.  He  wished  James  McMurrough  in  the  depth  of 
perdition.     But  it  was  too  late,  or  he  feared  so. 

Great  was  his  relief,  therefore,  when  she  spoke.  "Then 
you  '11  not  —  be  going  now?"  she  said. 

"Now?"  James  retorted  contemptuously.  "Haven't 
I  told  you,  you  '11  go  to-morrow?" 

"If  I  must,"  she  said,  slowly,  "I  will  —  if  I  must." 

"Then  what 's  the  good  of  talking,"  The  McMurrough 
answered.  He  was  proceeding  to  say  more  when  the 
opportunity  was  taken  from  him.  One  of  the  O'Beirnes, 
who  happened  to  avert  his  eyes  from  the  girl,  discovered 
Payton  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Phelim's 
exclamation  apprised  the  others  that  something  was  amiss, 
and  they  turned. 


272  THEWILDGEESE 

"I  left  my  snuff-box  on  the  table,"  Payton  said,  with  a 
sly  grin.  How  much  he  had  heard  they  could  not  tell. 
"Ha!  there  it  is!  Thank  you.  Sorry,  I  am  sure!  Hope 
I  don't  trespass.  Will  you  present  me  to  your  sister, 
Mr.  McMurrough?" 

James  McMurrough  had  no  option  but  to  do  so  —  look- 
ing foolish.  Luke  Asgill  stood  by  with  rage  in  his  heart, 
cursing  the  evil  chance  which  had  brought  Flavia 
downstairs. 

"I  assure  you,"  Payton  said,  bowing  low  before  her, 
but  not  so  low  that  the  insolence  of  his  smile  was  hidden 
from  all,  "I  think  myself  happy.  My  friend  Asgill's 
picture  of  you,  warmly  as  he  painted  it,  fell  infinitely 
below  the  reality!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 


THE  KEY 


COLONEL  JOHN  rose  and  walked  unsteadily  to 
the  window.  He  rested  a  hand  on  either  jamb 
and  looked  through  it,  peering  to  right  and  left 
with  wistful  eyes.  He  detected  no  one,  nothing,  no 
change,  no  movement,  and,  with  a  groan,  he  straightened 
himself.  But  he  still  continued  to  look  out,  gazing  at  the 
pitiless  blue  sky  in  which  the  sun  was  still  high. 

Presently  he  grew  weary,  and  went  back  to  his  chair. 
He  sat  down  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  head 
between  his  hands.  Again  his  ears  had  deceived  him! 
How  many  more  times  would  he  start  to  his  feet,  fancying 
he  heard  the  footstep  that  did  not  fall,  calling  aloud  to 
those  who  were  not  there,  anticipating  those  who,  more 
heedless  than  the  face  of  nature  without,  would  not  come 
before  the  appointed  time!  And  that  was  hours  away, 
hours  of  thirst  and  hunger,  almost  intolerable;  of 
patience  and  waiting,  broken  only  by  such  a  fancy, 
born  of  his  weakened  senses,  as  had  just  drawn  him  to 
the  window. 

Colonel  John  was  a  man  sane  and  well-balanced;  but 
even  he  had  succumbed  more  than  once  during  the  last 
twelve  hours  to  gusts  of  rage,  provoked  as  much  by  the 

273 


274  THEWILDGEESE 

futility  of  his  suffering  as  by  the  cruelty  of  his  persecutors. 
After  each  of  these  storms  he  had  scolded  himself  and 
grown  calm.  But  they  had  made  their  mark  upon  him, 
they  had  left  his  eyes  wilder,  his  cheeks  more  hollow,  his 
hand  less  firm. 

Notwithstanding,  he  was  not  light-headed.  He  could 
command  his  faculties,  he  could  still  reflect  and  plan. 
But  at  times  he  found  himself  confounding  the  present 
with  the  past,  fancying,  for  a  while,  that  he  was  in  a 
Turkish  prison,  or  starting  from  a  waking  dream  of  some 
cold  camp  in  Russian  snows  —  alas!  starting  from  it 
only  to  shiver  with  that  penetrating,  heart-piercing,  fright- 
ful cold,  which  was  worse  to  bear  than  the  gnawing  of 
hunger  or  the  longing  of  thirst.  He  had  burned,  in  fighting 
the  cold  of  the  past  night,  all  that  would  burn,  except  the 
chair  on  which  he  sat. 

He  had  not  eaten  for  more  than  seventy  hours.  But  the 
long  privation,  which  had  weakened  his  limbs  and  blanched 
his  cheeks,  had  not  availed  to  shake  his  will.  The  possi- 
bility of  surrender  did  not  occur  to  him,  partly  because  he 
felt  sure  that  James  McMurrough  would  not  be  so  foolish 
as  to  let  him  die;  but  partly,  also,  by  reason  of  a  noble 
stubbornness  in  the  man,  that  for  no  pain  of  death  would 
leave  a  woman  or  a  child  to  perish.  More  than  once 
Colonel  Sullivan  had  had  to  make  that  choice,  amid  the 
horrors  of  a  retreat  across  famished  lands,  with  wolves 
and  Cossacks  on  his  skirts;  and  perhaps  the  choice  then 
made  had  become  a  habit  of  the  mind.  At  any  rate,  he 
gave  no  thought  to  yielding. 


THE    KEY  275 

He  had  sat  for  some  minutes  in  the  attitude  described, 
when  once  more  a  sound  startled  him.  He  raised  his  head 
and  turned  his  eyes  on  the  window.  Then  he  faltered  to 
his  feet,  and  once  again  went  unsteadily  to  the  window 
and  looked  out. 

At  the  same  moment  Flavia  looked  in.  Their  eyes  met. 
Their  faces  were  less  than  a  yard  apart. 

The  girl  started  back  with  a  cry,  caused  by  horror  at  the 
change  in  his  aspect.  For  she  had  left  him  hungry,  she 
found  him  starving;  she  had  left  him  haggard,  she  found 
him  with  eyes  unnaturally  large,  his  temples  hollow,  his 
lips  dry,  his  chin  unshaven.  It  was  indeed  a  staring  mask 
of  famine  that  looked  out  of  the  dusky  room  at  her,  and 
looked  not  the  less  pitifully,  not  the  less  wofully,  because, 
as  soon  as  its  owner  took  in  her  identity,  the  mask  tried  to 
smile. 

"  Mother  of  God ! "  she  whispered.  Her  face  had  grown 
nearly  as  white  as  his.     She  had  imagined  nothing  like  this. 

Colonel  John,  believing  that  he  read  pity  as  well  as 
horror  in  her  face,  felt  a  sob  rise  in  his  breast.  He  tried  to 
smile  the  more  bravely  for  that,  and  presently  he  found  a 
queer,  husky  voice. 

"You  must  not  leave  me  —  too  long,"  he  said. 

She  drew  in  her  breath,  and  averted  her  face,  to  hide,  he 
hoped,  the  effect  of  the  sight  upon  her.  Or  perhaps  — 
for  he  saw  her  shudder  —  she  was  mutely  calling  the 
sunlit  lake  on  which  her  eyes  rested,  the  blue  sky,  to 
witness  against  this  foul  cruelty. 

But  it  seemed  that  he  deceived  himself.     For  when  she 


276  THEWILDGEESE 

turned  her  face  to  him  again,  though  it  was  still  colourless, 
it  was  hard  and  set. 

"You  must  sign,"  she  said.    "You  must  sign  the  paper." 

His  parched  lips  opened,  but  he  did  not  answer. 

"You  must  sign!"  she  repeated  insistently.  "You 
must  sign!" 

Still  he  did  not  answer;  he  only  looked  at  her  with  eyes 
of  infinite  reproach.  She,  a  woman,  a  girl,  whose  tender 
heart  should  have  bled  for  him,  could  see  him  tortured, 
could  aid  in  the  work,  and  cry  "Sign!" 

She  could  indeed,  for  she  repeated  the  word  —  fever- 
ishly. "Sign!"  she  cried.  And  then,  "If  you  will,"  she 
said,  "I  will  give  you  —  see!  You  shall  have  this.  You 
shall  eat  and  drink;  only  sign!  For  God's  sake  sign 
what  they  want,  and  eat  and  drink!" 

With  fingers  that  trembled  with  haste  she  drew  from 
a  hiding-place  in  her  cloak  bread  and  milk  and  wine. 
"See  what  I  have  brought,"  she  continued,  holding  them 
before  his  starting  eyes,  his  cracking  lips,  "  if  you  will  sign." 

He  gazed  at  them,  at  her,  with  anguish  of  the  mind  as 
well  as  of  the  body.  How  he  had  mistaken  her!  How  he 
had  misread  her!  Then,  with  a  groan,  "  God  forgive  you!" 
he  cried,  "I  cannot!     I  cannot!" 

"You  will  not  sign  ?"  she  retorted. 

"Cannot,  and  will  not!"  he  said. 

"  And  why  ?     Why  will  you  not  ?  " 

On  that  his  patience  gave  way;  and,  swept  along  by 
one  of  those  gusts  of  rage,  he  spoke.  "Why?"  he  cried 
in   hoarse   accents.     "Because,   ungrateful,    unwomanly, 


THE    KEY  277 

miserable  as  you  are  —  I  will  not  rob  you  or  the 
dead!  Because  I  will  not  be  false  to  an  old  man's  trust! 
Because,"  —  he  laughed  a  half-delirious  laugh  —  "  there  is 
nothing  to  sign.  I  have  burned  your  parchments  these 
two  days,  and  if  you  make  me  suffer  twice  as  much  as  I 
have  suffered  you  can  do  nothing!"  He  held  out  hands 
which  trembled  with  passion.  "You  can  do  nothing!" 
he  repeated,.  "Neither  you,  who  —  God  forgive  you, 
have  no  woman's  heart,  no  woman's  pity!  nor  he  who 
would  have  killed  me  in  the  bog  to  gain  that  which  he  now 
starves  me  to  get!  But  I  foiled  him  then,  as  I  will  foil  him 
to-day,  ingrate,  perjured,  accursed " 

He  faltered,  steadying  himself  against  the  wall.  For  a 
moment  he  covered  his  eyes  with  the  other  hand.  Then 
"God  forgive  me!"  he  resumed  in  a  lower  tone,  "I  know 
not  what  I  say!  And  you  —  Go!  for  you  know  not  what 
you  do.  You  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  hunger  and  thirst, 
or  you  would  not  try  me  thus!  Yet  I  ought  to  remember 
that  —  that  it  is  not  for  yourself  you  do  it! " 

He  turned  his  back  on  her  and  on  the  window.  He  had 
taken  three  steps  when  she  cried,  "Wait!" 

"  Go! "  he  repeated  with  a  backward  gesture  of  the  hand. 
"Go!" 

"Wait!"  she  cried.  "And  take  them!  Oh!  take 
them!  Quick!"  He  turned  about.  She  was  holding  the 
food  and  the  drink  through  the  window,  holding  them  out 
for  him  to  take.  But  it  might  be  another  deception.  He 
was  not  sure,  and  he  took  a  step  in  a  stealthy  fashion 
toward  the  window,  as  if,  were  she  off  her  guard,  he  would 


278  THEWILDGEESE 

snatch  them  from  her.  But  she  cried  again,  "Take  them! 
Take  them!"  with  tears  in  her  voice.  "I  brought  them 
for  you." 

The  craving  was  so  strong  upon  him  that  he  took  them 
then  without  answering  her  or  thanking  her.  He  turned 
his  back  on  her,  as  if  he  dared  not  let  her  see  the  desire  in 
his  face;  and  standing  thus,  he  drew  the  stopper  from  the 
bottle  of  milk,  and  drank.  He  would  fain  have  held  the 
bottle  to  his  lips  until  he  had  drained  the  last  drop,  but 
he  controlled  himself,  and  when  he  had  swallowed  a  few 
mouthfuls,  he  removed  it  Then  he  broke  off  three  or 
four  small  fragments  of  the  bread,  and  ate  them  one  by 
one  and  slowly  —  the  first  with  difficulty,  the  second  more 
easily,  the  third  with  an  avidity  which  he  checked  only 
by  a  firm  effort  of  the  will.  " Presently! "  he  told  himself. 
"There  is  plenty,  there  is  plenty."  Yet  he  allowed  himself 
two  more  mouthfuls  of  bread  and  another  sip  of  milk  — 
milk  that  was  nectar,  rather  than  any  earthly  drink. 

At  length,  with  new  life  running  in  his  veins,  and  a  pure 
thankfulness  that  she  had  proved  herself  very  woman  at  the 
last,  he  laid  his  treasures  on  the  chair,  and  turned  to  her. 
She  was  gone. 

While  he  had  eaten  and  drunk  he  had  felt  her  presence 
at  his  back,  and  once  he  was  sure  that  he  had  heard  her 
sob.  But  she  was  gone.  He  staggered  —  for  he  was  not 
yet  steady  on  his  feet  —  to  the  window,  and  looked  to  right 
and  left. 

She  had  not  gone  far  She  was  lying  prone  on  the 
sward,  her  face  hidden  on  her  arms;  and  it  was  true 


THE    KEY  279 

that  he  had  heard  her  sob,  for  she  was  weeping  without 
restraint.  The  change  in  him,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
reproaches,  had  done  something  more  than  shock  her. 
The  scales  of  prejudice  which  had  dimmed  her  sight  fell 
from  her  eyes;  and,  for  the  first  time,  she  saw  him  as  he 
was.  For  the  first  time  she  perceived  that,  in  pursuing 
the  path  he  had  followed,  he  might  have  thought  himself 
right.  Parts  of  the  passionate  rebuke  which  suffering 
and  indignation  had  forced  from  him  remained  branded 
upon  her  memory;  and  she  wept  in  shame,  feeling  her 
helplessness,  her  ignorance,  feeling  that  she  had  no  longer 
any  sure  support  or  prop.  How  could  she  trust  those  who, 
taking  advantage  at  once  of  her  wounded  vanity  and  her 
affection  for  her  brother,  had  drawn  her  into  this  hideous, 
this  cruel,  business? 

The  sense  of  her  loneliness,  the  knowledge  that  those 
about  her  used  her  for  their  own  ends  —  and  those  the 
most  unworthy  —  overwhelmed  her. 

When  the  first  passion  of  self-reproach  had  spent  itself, 
she  heard  him  calling  her  by  name,  and  in  a  voice  that 
stirred  her  heart-strings.  She  rose,  first  to  her  knees  and 
then  to  her  feet,  and,  averting  her  face,  "I  will  open  the 
door,"  she  said,  humbly  and  in  a  broken  voice.  "I  have 
brought  the  key." 

He  did  not  answer,  and  she  did  not  unlock.  For  as, 
still  keeping  her  face  averted  that  he  might  not  see  her 
tears,  she  turned  the  corner  of  the  tt)wer  to  gain  the  door, 
her  brother's  head  and  shoulders  rose  above  the  level  of 
the  platform.     As  The   McMurrough  stepped  on  to  the 


280  THEWILDGEESE 

latter  from  the  path,  he  was  in  time  to  see  her  skirt 
vanishing.  He  saw  no  more.  But  his  suspicions 
were  aroused.  He  strode  across  the  face  of  the  tower, 
turned  the  corner  and  came  on  her  in  the  act  of  putting 
the  key  in  the  lock. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  cried,  in  a  terrible  voice. 
"Are  you  mad ?" 

She  did  not  answer,  but  neither  did  he  pause  for  her 
answer.  The  imminence  of  the  peril,  the  thought  that 
the  man  whom  he  had  so  deeply  wronged  might  in 
another  minute  be  free  to  avenge  himself  and  punish  his 
foes,  rose  up  before  him,  and  he  thrust  her  roughly  from 
the  door.  The  key,  not  yet  turned,  came  away  in  her 
hand,  and  he  tried  to  snatch  it  from  her. 

"  Give  it  me! "  he  cried.     "  Do  you  hear  ?     Give  it  me! " 

"I  will  not!"  she  cried.     "No!" 

"Give  it  up,  I  say!"  he  retorted.  And  this  time  he 
made  good  his  hold  on  her  wrist.  He  tried  to  force  the 
key  from  her.  "Let  it  go!"  he  panted,  "or  I  shall  hurt 
you!" 

But  he  made  a  great  mistake  if  he  thought  that  he  ^ould 
coerce  Flavia  in  that  way.  Her  fingers  only  closed  more 
tightly  on  the  key.  "Never!"  she  cried,  struggling  with 
him.     "Never!     I  am  going  to  let  him  out!" 

"You  coward!"  a  voice  cried  through  the  door. 
"Coward!  Coward!"  There  was  a  sound  of  drumming 
on  the  door. 

But  Colonel  John's  voice  and  his  blows  were  powerless 
to  help,  as  James,  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  and  alarm,  gripped 


THE    KEY  281 

the  girl's  wrist  and  twisted  it.      "Let  it  go!     Let  it  go, 
you  fool!"  he  cried,  brutally,  "or  I  will  break  your  arm!" 

Her  face  turned  white  with  pain,  but  for  a  moment  she 
endured  in  silence.     Then  a  shriek  escaped  her. 

It  was  answered  instantly.  Neither  he  nor  she  had  had 
eyes  for  aught  but  one  another;  and  the  hand  that  fell, 
and  fell  heavily,  on  James's  shoulder  was  as  unexpected 
as  a  thunderbolt. 

"By  Heaven,  man,"  a  voice  cried  in  his  ear.  "Are  you 
mad  ?  Or  is  this  the  way  you  treat  women  in  Kerry  ? 
Let  the  lady  go!     Let  her  go,  I  say!" 

The  command  was  needless,  for  at  the  first  sound  of 
the  voice  James  had  fallen  back  with  a  curse,  and  Flavia, 
grasping  her  bruised  wrist  with  her  other  hand,  reeled  for 
support  against  the  Tower  wall.  For  a  moment  no  one 
spoke.  Then  James,  with  scarcely  a  look  at  Payton  — 
for  he  it  was  —  bade  her  come  away  with  him.  "If  you 
are  not  mad,"  he  growled,  "you  '11  have  a  care!  You  '11 
have  a  care,  and  come  away,  girl!" 

"When  I  have  let  him  out,  I  will,"  she  answered,  her 
eyes  glowing  sombrely  as  she  nursed  her  wrist.  In  her, 
too,  the  old  Adam  had  been  raised. 

"Give  me  the  key!"  he  said  for  the  last  time. 

"I  will  not,"  she  said. 

The  McMurrough  turned  his  rage  upon  the  intruder. 
"Deuce  take  you,  what  business  will  it  be  of  yours?"  he 
cried.     "Who  are  you  to  come  between  us,  eh?" 

Payton  bowed.  "If  I  offend,"  he  said,  airily,  "I  am 
entirely  at  your  service."     He  tapped  the  hilt  of  his  sword. 


282  THEWILDGEESE 

*'You  do  not  wear  one,  but  I  have  no  doubt  you  can  use 
one.  I  shall  be  happy  to  give  you  satisfaction  where  and 
when  you  please.     A  time  and  place " 

But  James  did  not  stop  to  hear  him  out.  He  turned 
with  an  oath  and  a  snarl,  and  went  off  —  went  off  in  such 
a  manner  that  Flavia  could  not  but  see  that  the  challenge 
was  not  to  his  taste.  At  another  time  she  would  have 
blushed  for  him.  But  his  brutal  violence  had  done  more 
during  the  last  ten  minutes  to  depose  his  image  from  her 
heart  than  years  of  neglect  and  rudeness. 

Payton  saw  him  go,  and,  blessing  the  good  fortune  which 
had  put  him  in  a  position  to  command  the  beauty's  thanks, 
he  turned  to  receive  them.  But  Flavia  was  not  looking  at 
him,  was  not  thinking  of  him.  She  had  put  the  key  in 
the  lock  and  was  trying  to  turn  it.  Her  left  wrist,  however, 
was  too  weak,  and  the  right  was  so  strained  as  to  be 
useless.  She  signed  to  him  to  turn  the  key,  and  he  did  so, 
and  threw  open  the  door,  wondering  much  what  it  was 
all  about. 

He  did  not  at  once  recognize  the  man  who,  pale  and 
haggard,  a  mere  ghost  of  himself,  dragged  himself  up  the 
three  steps,  and,  exhausted  by  the  effort,  leaned  against  the 
doorpost.  But  when  Colonel  John  spoke  and  tried  to 
thank  the  girl,  he  knew  him. 

He  whistled.     "You  are  Colonel  Sullivan!"  he  said. 

"The  same,  sir!"  Colonel  John  murmured  mechanically. 

"Are  you  ill?" 

"I  am  not  well,"  the  other  replied,  with  a  sickly  smile. 
The  indignation  which  he  had  felt  during  the  contest 


THE    KEY  283 

between  the  girl  and  her  brother  had  been  too  much  for 
his  strength.  "I  shall  be  better  presently,"  he  added. 
He  closed  his  eyes. 

"We  should  be  getting  him  below,"  Flavia  said  in  an 
undertone. 

Payton  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  He  was  in  a  fog. 
"Has  he  been  here  long?"  he  asked. 

"Nearly  four  days,"  she  replied,  with  a  shiver. 

"And  nothing  to  eat?" 


"Nothing." 


'The  deuce!     And  why?" 

She  did  not  stay  to  think  how  much  it  was  wise  to  tell 
him.  In  her  repentant  mood  she  was  anxious  to  pour 
herself  out  in  self-reproach.  "We  wanted  him  to  con- 
vey some  property,"  she  said,  "as  we  wished." 

"To  your  brother?" 

"Ah,  to  him!"  Then,  seeing  his  astonishment,  "It 
was  mine,"  she  added. 

Payton  began  to  understand.  He  looked  at  her;  but 
no,  he  did  not  understand  now.  For  if  the  idea  had  been 
to  constrain  Colonel  Sullivan  to  transfer  her  property  to 
her  brother,  how  did  her  interest  match  with  that?  He 
could  only  suppose  that  her  brother  had  coerced  her,  and 
that  she  had  given  him  the  slip  and  tried  to  release  the 
man  —  with  the  result  he  had  witnessed. 

One  thing  was  clear.  The  property,  large  or  small, 
was  still  hers.  The  Major  looked  with  a  thoughtful  face 
at  the  smiling  valley,  with  its  cabins  scattered  over  the 
slopes,  at  the  lake  and  the  fishing-boats,  and  the  rambling 


284  THEWILDGEESE 

slate-roofed  house  with  its  sheds  and  peat-stacks.  He 
wondered. 

No  more  was  said  at  that  moment,  however,  for  Flavia 
saw  that  Colonel  Sullivan's  strength  was  not  to  be  revived 
in  an  hour.  He  must  be  assisted  to  the  house  and  cared  for 
there.  In  the  meantime,  and  to  lend  some  strength,  she 
was  anxious  to  give  him  such  wine  and  food  as  he  could 
safely  take.  To  procure  these  she  entered  the  room  in 
which  he  had  been  confined. 

As  she  cast  her  eyes  round  its  dismal  interior,  marked 
the  poor  handful  of  embers  that  told  of  his  long  struggle 
with  the  cold,  marked  the  one  chair  which  he  had  saved 
—  for  to  lie  on  the  floor  had  been  death  —  marked  the 
beaten  path  that  led  from  the  chair  to  the  window,  and 
spoke  of  many  an  hour  of  painful  waiting  and  of  hope 
deferred,  she  saw  the  man  in  another,  a  more  gentle  aspect. 
She  had  seen  the  heroism,  she  now  saw  the  pathos  of  his 
conduct,  and  tears  came  afresh  to  her  eyes.  "For  me!" 
she  murmured.     "  For  me !     And  how  had  I  treated  him  I " 

Her  old  grievance  against  him  was  forgotten,  wiped  out 
of  remembrance  by  his  sufferings.  She  dwelt  only  on  the 
treatment  she  had  meted  out  to  him. 

When  they  had  given  him  to  eat  and  drink  he  assured 
them,  smiling,  that  he  could  walk.  But  when  he  attempted 
to  do  so  he  staggered.  "  He  will  need  a  stronger  arm  than 
yours,"  Payton  said,  with  a  grin.     "May  I  offer  mine  ?" 

For  the  first  time  she  looked  at  him  gratefully.  "  Thank 
you,"  she  said. 

"I  can  walk,"  the  Colonel  repeated  obstinately.     "A 


THE    KEY  285 

little  giddy,  that  is  all."  But  in  the  end  he  needed  all  the 
help  that  both  could  give  him.  And  so  it  happened  that 
a  few  minutes  later  Luke  Asgill,  standing  at  the  entrance 
to  the  courtyard,  looked  along  the  road,  and  saw  the  three 
approaching,  linked  in  apparent  amity. 

The  shock  was  great,  for  James  McMurrough  had  fled, 
cursing,  into  solitude  and  the  hills,  taking  no  steps  to  warn 
his  ally.  The  sight  struck  Asgill  with  the  force  of  a  bullet. 
Colonel  John  released,  and  in  the  company  of  Flavia  and 
Pay  ton!  All  his  craft,  all  his  coolness,  forsook  him.  He 
slunk  out  of  sight  by  a  back  way,  but  not  before  Payton 
had  marked  his  retreat. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  SCENE  IN  THE  PASSAGE 

UNDER  the  shadow  of  the  great  peat-stack, 
whither  he  had  retired  that  he  might  make  up 
his  mind  before  he  faced  the  three,  Asgill 
cursed  The  McMurrough  with  all  his  heart.  It  was,  it 
must  be,  through  his  folly  and  mismanagement  that  the 
thing  had  befallen,  that  the  prisoner  had  been  released, 
that  Payton  had  been  let  into  the  secret. 

How  was  he  to  get  rid  of  Payton  ?  How  prevent  Colonel 
John  from  resuming  that  sway  in  the  house  which  he  had 
exercised  before  ?  How  nip  in  the  bud  that  nascent  sym- 
pathy, that  feeling  for  him,  which  Flavia's  outbreak  the 
night  before  had  suggested  ?  Or  how,  short  of  all  this, 
was  he  to  face  either  Payton  or  the  Colonel  ? 

In  counsel  with  James  McMurrough  he  might  have 
arranged  a  plan  of  action ;  at  least,  he  would  have  learned 
from  him  what  Payton  knew.  But  James's  absence  ruined 
all.  In  the  end,  after  waiting  some  time  in  the  vain  hope 
that  he  would  appear,  Asgill  went  in  to  supper. 

Colonel  Sullivan  was  not  there;  he  was  in  no  condition 
to  descend.  Nor  was  Flavia;  whereon  Asgill  reflected, 
with  chagrin,  that  probably  she  was  attending  upon  the 
invalid.     Payton  was  at  table,  with  the  two  O'Beirnes,  and 

286 


SCENE    IN    THE    PASSAGE       287 

three  other  buckeens.  The  Englishman,  amused  by  the 
discovery  he  had  made,  was  openly  disdainful  of  his  com- 
panions; while  the  Irishmen,  sullen  and  suspicious,  were 
not  aware  how  much  he  knew.  If  The  McMurrough 
chose  to  imprison  his  unpopular  kinsman,  it  was  nothing 
to  them;  nor  a  matter  into  which  gentlemen  eating  at  his 
table  and  drinking  his  potheen  and  claret  were  called 
upon  to  peer  too  closely. 

But  for  his  repute  as  a  duellist  they  would  have  picked 
a  quarrel  with  the  visitor  there  and  then.  And  but 
for  the  presence  of  his  four  troopers  in  the  background 
they  might  have  fallen  upon  him  in  some  less  regular 
fashion.  As  it  was,  they  sat  eyeing  him  askance;  and, 
without  shame,  were  relieved  when  Asgill  entered.  They 
looked  to  him  to  clear  up  the  situation  and  put  the  inter- 
loper in  his  right  place. 

"I'm  fearing  I'm  late,"  Asgill  said.  "Where '11 
The  McMurrough  be,  I  wonder?" 

"Gone  to  meet  your  friend,  I  should  think,"  Payton 
replied  with  a  sneer. 

Asgill  maintained  a  steady  face.  "My  friend?"  he 
repeated.     "Oh,  Colonel  Sullivan?" 

"Yes,  your  friend  who  was  to  return  to-day,"  the  other 
retorted.  "Have  you  seen  anything  of  him?"  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  grin. 

Asgill  fixed  his  eyes  steadily  on  Payton's  face.  "I  'm 
fancying  you  have  the  advantage  of  me,"  he  said.  "  More 
by  token,  I  'm  thinking.  Major,  you  have  seen  that  same 
friend  already." 


288  THEWILDGEESE 

"Maybe  I  have." 

"And  had  a  bout  with  him?" 

"Eh?" 

"And,  faith,  had  the  best  of  the  bout,  too!"  Asgill  con- 
tinued coolly,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  other's  features 
as  if  his  one  aim  was  to  see  if  he  had  hit  the  mark.  "So 
much  the  best  that  I  '11  be  chancing  a  guess  he  's  upstairs 
at  this  moment,  and  wounded !  Leastwise,  I  hear  you  and 
the  young  lady  brought  him  to  the  house  between  you,  and 
him  scarcely  able  to  use  his  ten  toes." 

Payton,  with  his  mouth  open,  glared  at  the  speaker 
in  a  manner  that  at  another  time  must  have  provoked  him 
to  laughter. 

"Is  n't  that  the  fact?"  Asgill  asked,  coldly. 

"The  fact!"  the  other  burst  forth.  "No,  I  'm  cursed 
if  it  is!     And  you  know  it  is  not!     You  know  as  well  as  I 

do "     And  with  that  he  poured  forth  a  version  of  the 

events  of  the  afternoon. 

When  he  had  done,  "That's  a  strange  story,"  Asgill 
said  quietly,  "if  it's  true." 

"True?"  Payton  rejoined,  laying  his  hand  on  a  glass 
and  speaking  in  a  towering  rage.     "You  know  it 's  true!" 

"I  know  nothing  about  it,"  Asgill  replied,  with  the 
utmost  coolness. 

"Nothing?" 

"And  for  a  good  reason.  Sure,  and  I  'm  the  last  person 
they  would  be  likely  to  tell  it  to!" 

"And  you  were  not  a  party  to  it?"  Payton  crie< 

"Why  should  I  be?"  Asgill  rejoined.     "What  have  I 


SCENE    IN    THE    PASSAGE       289 

to  gain  by  robbing  the  young  lady  of  her  inheritance  ? 
I  'd  be  more  Hkely  to  lose  by  it  than  gain." 

"Lose  by  it?    Why?" 

*'  That  is  my  affair,"  Asgill  answered.    And  he  hummed : 

"  'They  tried  put  the  comether  on  Judy  McBain  : 
One,  two,  three,  one,  two  three  ! 
Cotter  and  crowder  and  Paddy  O'Hea  ; 
For  who  but  she  's  owner  of  BalljTnacshane  ?'  " 

He  made  his  meaning  so  clear  that  Pay  ton,  scowling 
at  him  with  his  hand  on  a  glass  as  if  he  meant  to 
throw  it,  dropped  his  eyes  and  his  hand  and  fell  into  a 
gloomy  study.  He  could  not  but  own  the  weight  of  the 
other's  argument.  If  Asgill  was  a  pretender  to  the 
heiress's  hand  the  last  thought  in  his  mind  would  be  to 
divest  her  of  her  property. 

Asgill  read  his  thoughts,  and  presently:  "I  hope  the 
wound  is  not  serious?"  he  said. 

"He  is  not  wounded,"  the  Major  answered  curtly. 
Meanwhile  the  O'Beirnes  and  their  fellows  grinned  their 
admiration  of  the  bear-tamer;  and  went  out  one  by  one, 
until  the  two  men  were  left  together 

They  sat  some  way  apart,  Payton  brooding  savagely, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  table,  Asgill  toying  with  the  things 
before  him.  Each  saw  the  prize  clear  before  him;  each 
saw  the  other  in  the  way.  Payton  cared  for  the  girl  herself 
only  as  a  toy  that  had  caught  his  fancy;  but  his  mouth 
watered  for  her  possessions.  Asgill  cared  little  or  nothing 
fo'" ''  'nheritance,  but  he  swore  that  the  other  man  should 
never  live  to  possess  the  woman.     "  It  is  a  pity,"  Payton 


290  THEWILDGEESE 

meditated,  "for,  with  his  aid,  I  could  take  the  girl,  wilHng 
or  unwiUing.  She  'd  not  be  the  first  Irish  girl  who  has 
gone  to  her  marriage  across  the  pommel!"  While  Asgill 
reflected  that  if  he  could  find  Payton  alone  on  a  dark  night 
it  would  not  be  his  small-sword  would  help  him  or  his 
four  troopers  would  find  him!  But  it  must  not  be  at 
Morristown. 

Each  owned,  with  reluctance,  that  the  other  had 
advantages.  Asgill  was  Irish,  and  known  to  Flavia; 
but  Payton,  though  English,  was  the  younger,  the  hand- 
somer, the  better  born,  and  he  flattered  himself  that,  given 
a  little  time,  he  would  win,  if  not  by  favour,  by  force  or 
fraud.  But,  could  he  have  looked  into  Asgill's  heart, 
he  would  have  trembled.  He  would  have  known  that, 
while  Irish  bogs  were  deep  and  Irish  pikes  were  sharp, 
his  life  would  not  be  worth  one  week's  purchase  if  he 
wronged  this  girl. 

And  Asgill  suspected  the  other;  and  he  shook  with  rage 
at  the  thought  that  Payton  might  offer  the  girl  some 
rudeness.  When  Payton  rose  to  go,  he  rose  also;  and 
when,  by  chance,  Payton  sat  down,  he  sat  down  also. 
At  once  the  Englishman  understood;  and  thenceforth  they 
sat  with  frowning  faces,  each  more  certain,  with  every 
moment,  that,  the  other  removed,  his  path  to  the  goal 
was  clear  and  open. 

There  was  claret  on  the  table,  and  the  Major  did  not 
spare  it.  When  he  rose  to  his  feet  to  retire  he  was  heated 
and  flushed,  but  not  drunk.  "Where  's  that  young  cub  ?" 
he  asked. 


SCENE    IN    THE    PASSAGE       291 

Asgill  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  can't  hope  to  fill  his 
place,"  he  said  with  a  smooth  smile.  "  But  I  will  be  doing 
the  honours  as  well  as  I  can." 

"You  are  very  officious,  it  seems  to  me,"  Pay  ton  growled. 
And  then,  more  loudly,  "I  am  going  to  bed,"  he  said. 

"Tn  his  absence,"  Asgill  answered,  with  mock  polite- 
ness, "I  will  have  the  honour  of  lighting  you." 

"You  need  n't  trouble." 

"Faith,  and  it  's  no  trouble  at  all,"  Asgill  replied  in  the 
same  tone.  And,  taking  two  of  the  candles  from  the  table, 
he  preceded  the  Englishman  up  the  stairs. 

The  gradual  ascent  of  the  lights  and  the  men's  footsteps 
should  have  given  Flavia  warning  of  their  coming.  But 
either  she  disdained  concealment  or  she  was  thinking  of 
other  things,  for  when  they  entered  the  passage  beyond 
the  landing  they  espied  the  girl  standing  outside  the 
Colonel's  door  A  pang  shot  through  Asgill's  heart,  and 
he  drew  in  his  breath. 

She  raised  her  hand.  "Ah,"  she  said,  "he  has  been 
crying  out!  But  I  think  it  was  in  his  sleep.  Will  you  be 
making  as  little  noise  as  you  can  ?" 

Asgill  did  not  answer,  but  Pay  ton  did,  "  Happy  man ! " 
he  said.  And,  being  in  his  cups,  he  said  it  in  such  a  tone 
and  with  such  a  look  that  a  deep  blush  crimsoned  the 
girl's  face. 

Her  eyes  snapped.     "Good-night,"  she  said,  coldly. 

Asgill  continued  to  keep  silence,  but  Payton  did  not 
take  the  hint.  "  Wish  I  'd  such  a  guardian ! "  he  said  with 
a  chuckle.     "I  'd  be  a  happy  man  then!" 


292  THE   WILD   GEESE 

Asgill's  face  was  dark  with  passion,  but  "Good-night" 
Flavia  repeated  coldly.  And  this  time  the  displeasure  in 
her  tone  silenced  the  Major.  The  two  men  went  on  to 
their  rooms,  though  Asgill's  hands  itched  to  be  at  the 
other's  throat.      A  moment  later  two  doors  closed  sharply. 

Flavia  remained  in  the  darkness  of  the  passage,  but  she 
no  longer  listened  —  she  thought.  Presently  slie  went 
back  to  her  room. 

There  she  continued  to  stand  and  to  think.  And  the 
blush  which  the  Major's  insinuation  had  brought  to  her 
cheek  still  burned  there.  It  was  natural  that  Payton's 
words  should  direct  her  thoughts  to  the  man  outside  whose 
door  he  had  found  her;  nor  less  natural  that  she  should 
institute  a  comparison  between  the  two,  should  consider 
how  the  one  had  treated  her,  when  he  had  held  her  strug- 
gling in  his  arms,  when  in  her  despair  she  had  beaten  his 
face  with  her  hands,  and  how  the  other  had  treated  her  in 
the  few  hours  he  had  known  her!  Thus  comparing  she 
could  not  but  find  in  the  one  a  nobility,  in  the  other  a  —  a 
dreadfulness.  Looking  back,  and  having  Payton's  words 
and  manner  fresh  in  her  mind,  she  had  to  own  that,  in  all 
his  treatment  of  her,  Colonel  Sullivan,  while  opposing  and 
thwarting  her,  had  still,  and  always,  respected  her. 

Strange  to  say,  she  could  not  now  understand  that  rage 
against  him  which  had  before  carried  her  to  such  lengths. 
How  had  he  wronged  her?  She  could  find  no  sufficing 
answer.  A  curtain  had  fallen  between  the  past  and  the 
present.  The  rising  ?  It  stood  on  a  sudden  very  distant, 
very  dim,  a  thing  of  the  past,  an  enterprise  romantic,  but 


SCENE    IN    THE    PASSAGE       293 

hopeless.  The  contemptuous  words  in  which  he  had 
denounced  it  rang  again  in  her  ears,  but  they  no  longer 
kindled  her  resentment;  they  convinced.  As  one  recover- 
ing from  sickness  looks  back  on  the  delusions  of  fever, 
Flavia  reviewed  the  hopes  and  aspirations  of  the  past 
month.  She  saw  now  it  was  not  with  a  handful  of  cotters 
and  peasants  that  Ireland  could  be  saved  or  the  true  faith 
restored ! 

She  was  still  standing  a  pace  within  her  door,  when  a 
foot  stumbled  heavily  on  the  stairs.  She  recognized  it  for 
James's  footstep  —  she  had  heard  him  stumble  on  those 
stairs  before  —  and  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  latch.  She 
had  never  had  a  real  quarrel  with  him  until  now  and,  out- 
rageously as  he  had  treated  her,  she  could  not  bear  to  sleep 
without  making  an  attempt  to  heal  the  breach.  She 
opened  the  door,  and  stepped  out. 

James's  light  was  travelling  up  the  stairs,  but  he  had  not 
himself  reached  the  landing.  She  had  just  noted  this  when 
a  door  opened,  and  Pay  ton  looked  out.  He  saw  her,  and, 
still  flushed  with  claret,  he  misunderstood  her  presence 
and  her  purpose.     He  stepped  toward  her 

"Thought  so!"  he  chuckled.  "Still  listening,  eh? 
Why  not  listen  at  my  door?  Then  it  would  be  a  pretty 
man  and  a  pretty  maid.  But  I  've  caught  you."  He  shot 
out  his  arm  and  tried  to  draw  her  toward  him.  "There  's 
no  one  to  see,  and  the  least  you  can  do  is  to  give  me  a  kiss 
for  a  forfeit!" 

The  girl  recoiled,  outraged  and  angry.  But,  knowing 
her  brother  was  at  hand,  and  seeing  in  a  flash  what  might 


294  THEWILDGEESE 

happen  in  the  event  of  a  colHsion,  she  did  so  in  silence, 
hoping  to  escape  before  he  came  upon  them".  Unfortu- 
nately Payton  misread  her  silence  and  took  her  movement 
for  a  show  of  feigned  modesty.  With  a  movement  as  quick 
as  hers,  he  grasped  her  roughly,  dragged  her  toward  him 
and  kissed  her. 

She  screamed  then  in  sheer  rage  —  screamed  with  such 
passion  that  Payton  let  her  go  and  stepped  back  with  an 
oath.  As  he  did  so  he  turned,  and  the  turn  brought  him 
face  to  face  with  James  McMurrough. 

The  young  man,  tipsy  and  smarting  with  his  wrongs 
saw  what  was  before  his  eyes  —  his  sister  in  Payton's 
arms  —  but  he  saw  something  more.  He  saw  the  man 
who  had  thwarted  him  that  day,  and  whom  he  had  not  at 
the  time  dared  to  beard.  What  he  might  have  done  had 
he  been  sober  matters  not.  Drink  and  vindictiveness 
gave  him  more  than  the  courage  he  needed,  and,  with  a 
roar  of  anger,  he  dashed  the  glass  he  was  carrying  —  and 
its  contents  —  into  Payton's  face. 

The  Englishman  dropped  where  he  was,  and  James 
stood  over  him,  swearing,  while  the  grease  guttered  from 
the  tilted  candle  in  his  right  hand.  Flavia  gasped,  and, 
horror-struck,  clutched  James's  arm  as  he  lifted  the 
candlestick  and  made  as  if  he  would  beat  in  the  man's 
brains. 

Fortunately  a  stronger  hand  than  hers  interfered.  Asgill 
dragged  the  young  man  back.  "Haven't  you  done 
enough?"  he  cried.  "Would  you  murder  the  man,  and 
his  troopers  in  the  house?" 


SCENE    IN    THE    PASSAGE      295 

'Ah,  did  n't  you  see,  curse  you,  he " 


"I  know,  I  know!"  Asgill  answered  hoarsely.  "But 
not  now!  Not  now!  Let  him  rise  if  he  can!  Let  him 
rise,  I  say!     Payton!" 

The  moment  James  stood  back  the  fallen  man  staggered 
to  his  feet,  and  though  the  blood  was  running  down  his 
face  from  a  cut  on  the  cheekbone,  he  showed  that  he  was 
less  hurt  than  startled.  "You  '11  give  me  satisfaction  for 
this!"  he  muttered.  "You  '11  give  me  satisfaction  for 
this,"  he  repeated,  between  his  teeth. 

"Ah,  by  heaven,  I  will!"  James  McMurrough  answered 
furiously.     "And  kill  you,  too!" 

"At  eight  to-morrow!  Do  you  hear?  At  eight  to- 
to-morrow!     Not  an  hour  later!" 

"I  '11  not  keep  you  waiting,"  James  retorted. 

Flavia  leaned  almost  fainting  against  her  door.  She 
tried  to  speak,  but  her  voice  failed  her. 

And  Payton's  livid,  scowling,  bleeding  face  was  hate 
itself.  "Behind  the  yews  in  the  garden?"  he  said,  dis- 
regarding her  presence. 

"  Ah,  I  '11  meet  you  there ! "  The  Mc^NIurrough  answered, 
pot-valiant.  "And,  more  by  token,  order  your  cofBn, 
for  you  '11  need  it!"  Drink  and  rage  left  no  place  in  his 
brain  for  fear. 

"That  will  be  seen  —  to-morrow,"  the  Englishman 
answered,  in  a  tone  that  chilled  the  girl's  marrow.  Then, 
with  his  kerchief  pressed  to  his  cheek  to  stanch  the  blood, 
he  retreated  into  his  room,  and  slammed  the  door.  They 
heard  him  turn  the  key  in  it. 


296  THEWILDGEESE 

Flavia  found  her  voice.  She  looked  at  her  brother. 
"Ah,  heavens!"  she  cried.     "Why  did  I  open  my  door?" 

James,  still  pot-valiant,  returned  her  look.  "Because 
you  were  a  fool,"  he  said.  "But  I  '11  spit  him,  never  fear! 
Faith,  and  I  'II  spit  him  like  a  fowl!"  In  his  turn  he  went 
on  unsteadily  to  his  room,  disappeared  within  it,  and  closed 
the  door. 

Flavia  and  Asgill  remained  together.  Her  eyes  met  his. 
"Ah,  why  did  I  open  my  door?"  she  cried.  "Why  did 
I?" 

He  had  no  comfort  for  her.  He  shook  his  head,  but 
did  not  speak. 

"He  will  kill  him!"  she  said. 

Asgill  reflected  in  a  heavy  silence.  "I  will  think  what 
can  be  done,"  he  muttered  at  last.     "Do  you  go  to  bed." 

"To  bed?"  she  cried. 

"There  is  naught  to  be  done  to-night,"  he  answered,  in 
a  low  tone.  "If  the  troopers  were  not  with  him  —  but 
that  is  useless.  And  —  his  door  is  locked.  Do  you  go  to 
bed,  and  I  will  think  what  we  can  do." 

"To  save  James  ?"  She  laid  her  hand  on  Asgill's  arm, 
and  he  quivered.  "Ah,  you  will  save  him!"  She  had 
forgotten  her  brother's  treatment  of  her  earlier  in  the  day. 

"  If  I  can,"  he  said  slowly.  His  face  was  damp  and  very 
pale.  "If  I  can,"  he  repeated.  "But  it  will  not  be  easy 
to  save  him  honourably." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  whispered. 

"He  '11  save  himself,  I  fancy.     But  his  honour " 

"Ah!  "    The  word  came  from  her  in  a  cry  of  pain. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

BEHIND  THE  YEWS 

THE  passages  were  still  gray  and  chill,  when  one  of 
the  bedchamber  doors  opened  and  a  face  peeped 
out.  The  face  was  Flavia's.  Presently  the  girl 
stepped  forward  —  paused,  scared  by  a  board  that  creaked 
under  her  naked  foot  —  then  went  on  again.  She  reached 
one  of  the  doors,  and  scratched  on  it  with  her  nail. 

No  one  answered  the  summons,  and  she  pushed  the  door 
open  and  went  in.  As  she  had  feared,  enlightened  by 
Asgill's  hint  she  found  James  was  awake  and  sitting  up  in 
his  bed,  his  arms  clasped  about  his  knees.  His  eyes  met 
hers  as  she  entered,  and  in  his  eyes,  and  in  his  form, 
huddled  together  as  in  sheer  physical  pain,  she  read  beyond 
all  doubt  fear.  Why  she  had  felt  certain,  courageous 
herself,  that  this  was  what  she  would  find  she  did  not  know. 
But  there  it  was,  as  she  had  foreseen  it,  through  the  long, 
restless,  torturing  hours. 

James  tried  to  utter  the  oath  that,  deceiving  her,  might 
rid  him  of  her  presence.  But  his  nerves,  shaken  by  his 
overnight  drink,  could  not  command  his  voice  even  for 
that.  His  eyes  dropped  in  shame;  the  muttered  "What 
the  plague  will  you  be  wanting  at  this  hour  ?"  was  no  more 
than  a  querulous  whisper. 

297 


298  THEWILDGEESE 

"I  could  n't  sleep,"  she  said,  avoiding  his  eyes. 

"I,  no  more,"  he  muttered.  "Curse  him!  Curse  you, 
too !  Why  were  you  getting  in  his  way  ?  You  've  as  good 
as  murdered  me  with  your  tricks  and  your  poses!" 

"Heaven  forbid!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Ah,  you  have!"  he  answered,  rocking  himself  to  and 
fro  in  his  excitement.  "If  it  were  any  one  else,  I  'm  as 
ready  to  fight  as  another!  But  he  's  killed  four  men,  and 
he  '11  kill  me!  Oh,  if  I  'd  not  come  up  at  that  minute! 
If  I  'd  not  come  up  at  that  minute!" 

The  picture  of  what  he  would  have  escaped  had  he 
mounted  the  stairs  a  minute  later  was  too  much  for  him. 
Not  a  thought  did  he  give  to  what  might  have  happened 
to  her  had  he  come  on  the  scene  later;  but,  with  all  his 
cowardly  soul  laid  bare,  he  rocked  himself  to  and  fro 
in  a  paroxysm  of  self-pity. 

Yet  he  did  not  suffer  more  sorely  under  the  lash  of  his 
own  terrors  than  Flavia  suffered  —  seeing  him  thus,  the 
braggadocio  stripped  from  him,  and  the  poor,  cringing 
creature  displayed.  If  she  had  thought  too  much  of  her 
descent  —  and  the  more  in  proportion  as  fortune  had 
straitened  the  line,  and  only  in  this  corner  of  a  downtrodden 
land  was  its  greatness  even  a  memory  —  she  was  chastened 
for  it  now!  She  could  have  wept  tears  of  shame.  And 
yet,  so  plain  was  the  collapse  of  the  man  before  her,  that 
she  did  not  think  of  reproach,  even  had  she  found  heart 
to  chide  him,  knowing  that  her  words  might  send  him  to 
his  death. 

All  her  thought  was,  could  she  hide  the  blot?     Could 


BEHIND    THE    YEWS  299 

she,  at  any  rate,  so  veil  it  that  this  insolent  Enghshman, 
this  bully  of  the  conquering  race,  might  not  perceive  it? 
That  were  worth  so  much  that  her  own  life  seemed  a  small 
price  to  pay  for  it. 

But,  alas!  she  could  not  purchase  it  with  her  life.  Only 
in  fairy  tales  can  the  woman  pass  for  the  man,  and  Doris 
receive  in  her  tender  bosom  the  thrust  intended  for  the 
sterner  breast.  Then  how  could  they  shun  at  least  open 
disgrace  —  open  dishonour?  For  it  needed  but  a  glance 
at  her  brother's  pallid  face  to  assure  her  that,  brought  to 
the  field,  he  would  prove  unequal  even  to  the  task  of  cloak- 
ing his  fears. 

She  sickened  at  the  thought,  and  her  eyes  grew  hard. 
Was  this  the  man  in  whom  she  had  believed  ?  And  when 
he  turned  on  his  side  and  hid  his  face  in  the  pillow  and 
groaned  she  had  small  pity  to  spare  for  him.  "Ai-e  you 
not  well?"  she  asked. 

"Can't  you  be  seeing?"  he  answered  fractiously;  but 
for  very  shame  he  could  not  face  her  eyes.  "  Cannot  you  be 
seeing  I  am  not  fit  to  get  up  ?    See  how  my  hand  shakes! " 

"What  is  to  be  done,  then?" 

He  cursed  Payton  thrice  in  a  frenzy  of  rage.  He  beat 
the  pillow  with  his  fist. 

"That  does  no  g  od,"  she  said. 

"I  believe  you  want  to  kill  me!"  he  complained 
with  childish  passion.  "I  believe  you  want  to  see  me 
dead!  Why  can't  you  be  managing  your  own  affairs, 
without  —  without  —  heavens!"  And  then,  in  a  dreadful 
voice,  " I  shall  be  dead  to-night!    And  you  care  nothing!" 


300  THEWILDGEESE 

He  hid  unmanly  tears  on  his  pillow,  while  she  looked  at 
the  wall,  pale  to  the  lips.  Her  worst  misgivings  had  not 
pictured  a  thing  so  mean  as  this,  a  spirit  so  poor.  And 
this  was  her  brother,  her  idol,  he  to  whom  she  had  fondly 
looked  to  revive  the  glories  of  the  race!  Truly  she  had 
been  blind. 

She  had  spoken  to  Luke  Asgill  the  night  before,  and  he 
would  help  her,  she  believed.  But  for  that  she  would  have 
turned,  as  her  thoughts  did  turn,  to  Colonel  John.  But 
he  lay  prostrate,  and  the  O'Beirnes  were  out  of  the  ques- 
tion; she  could  not  tell  them.  Youth  has  no  pity,  makes 
no  allowance,  expects  the  utmost,  and  a  hundred  times 
they  had  heard  James  brag  and  brawl.  And  Uncle  Ulick 
was  away. 

There  remained  only  Luke  Asgill. 

"If  you  are  not  well,"  she  said,  in  the  same  hard  voice, 
"shall  I  be  telling  Mr,  Asgill?  He  may  contrive 
something." 

The  man  sweating  in  the  bed  leaped  at  the  hope,  as  he 
would  have  leaped  at  any  hope.  Nor  was  he  so  upset  by 
fear  as  not  to  reflect  that,  whatever  Flavia  asked  Asgill 
would  do.  "Ah,  tell  him,"  he  cried,  raising  Iiimself  on 
his  elbow.  "  Do  you  be  telling  him !  He  can  make  him  — 
wait,  may  be." 

At  that  moment  she  came  near  to  hating  her  brother. 
"I  will  send  him  to  you,"  she  said. 

"No!"  he  cried  anxiously.  "No!  Do  you  be  telling 
him!     Do  you  hear?     I 'm  not  so  well  to  see  him." 

She  shivered,  seeing  plainly  the  unmixed  selfishness  of 


BEHIND    THE    YEWS  301 

he  course  he  urged.  But  she  had  not  the  heart  to  answer 
him.  She  went  from  the  room  and,  going  back  to  her  own 
chamber,  she  dressed.  By  this  time  the  house  was 
astir,  the  June  sunshine  was  pouring  with  the  songs 
of  birds  through  the  windows.  She  heard  one  of 
the  O'Beirnes  stumble  downstairs.  Next  Asgill  opened 
his  door  and  passed  down.  In  a  twinkUng  she  followed 
him,  making  a  sign  to  him  to  go  on,  and  led  him  into 
the  open  air.  Nor  when  they  were  outside  did  she 
speak  until  she  had  put  the  courtyard  between  herself 
and  the  house. 

For  she  would  have  hidden  their  shame  from  all  if  she 
could!  Even  to  say  what  she  had  to  say  cost  her  in 
humiliation  more  than  her  brother  had  paid  for  aught  in 
his  selfish  life.  But  it  had  to  be  said,  and,  after  a  pause, 
and  with  eyes  averted,  "My  brother  is  ill,"  she  faltered. 
"He  cannot  meet  —  that  man,  this  morning.  It  is  —  as 
you  feared.     And  —  what  can  we  do  ?" 

In  another  case  Luke  Asgill  would  have  blessed  the 
chance  that  linked  him  with  her,  cast  her  on  his  help. 
He  had  guessed,  before  she  opened  her  mouth,  what  she 
had  to  say  —  nay,  for  hours  he  had  lain  sleepless  on  his 
bed,  anticipating  it.  He  had  been  certain  of  the  issue  — 
he  knew  James  McMurrough ;  and,  being  a  man  who 
loved  Flavia  indeed,  but  loved  life  also,  he  had  foreseen, 
with  the  cold  sweat  on  his  brow,  what  he  would  be  driven 
to  do. 

He  made  no  haste  to  answer,  therefore,  and  his  tone, 
when  he  did  answer,  was  dull  and  lifeless.     "Is  it  ill  he 


302  THEWILDGEESE 

is?"  he  asked.  "It's  a  bad  morning  to  be  ill,  and  a 
meeting  on  hand." 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Is  he  too  bad  to  stand?"  he  continued.  He  made  no 
attempt  to  hide  his  comprehension  or  his  scorn- 

"I  don't  say  that,"  she  faltered. 

"Perhaps  he  told  you,"  Asgill  said  —  and  there  was 
nothing  of  the  lover  in  his  tone  —  "  to  speak  to  me  ?" 

She  nodded. 

"It  is  I  am  to  —  put  it  off,  I  suppose ?" 

"If  it  be  possible,"  she  cried.  "Oh,  if  it  be  possible! 
Is  it?" 

He  stood,  thinking,  with  a  gloomy  face.  From  the  first 
he  had  seen  that  there  were  two  ways  only  of  extricating 
The  McMurrough.  The  one  by  a  mild  explanation, 
which  would  leave  his  honour  in  the  mud.  The  other 
by  an  explanation  after  a  different  fashion,  with  the  word 
"liar"  ready  to  answer  to  the  word  "coward."  But  he 
who  gave  this  last  explanation  must  be  willing  to  back 
the  word  with  the  deed,  and  stop  cavilling  with  the  sword- 
point. 

Now,  Asgill  knew  the  Major's  skill  with  the  sword; 
none  better.  And  under  other  circumstances  the  justice 
—  cold,  selfish,  scheming  —  would  have  gone  many  a 
mile  about  before  he  entered  upon  a  quarrel  with  him. 
None  the  less,  love  had  drawn  him  to  contemplate  this 
very  thing.  For  surely,  if  he  did  this  and  lived,  Flavia 
would  smile  on  him.  Surely,  if  he  saved  her  brother's 
honour,  she  would  be  won.     It  was  a  forlorn,  it  was  a 


BEHIND    THE    YEWS  303 

desperate  expedient.  For  no  other  advantage  would  Luke 
Asgill  have  faced  the  Major's  sword-point.  But,  what- 
ever he  was,  he  loved.  He  loved!  And  for  the  face  and 
the  form  beside  him,  and  for  the  quality  of  soul  that  shone 
from  the  girl's  eyes,  and  made  her  what  she  was,  and  to 
him  different  from  all  other  women,  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  run  the  risk. 

It  went  for  something  that  he  believed  that  Flavia,  if 
he  failed  her,  would  go  to  Colonel  Sullivan.  If  she  did 
that,  Asgill  was  sure  that  his  own  chance  was  at  an  end. 
This  was  his  chance.  It  lay  with  him  now,  to-day,  at  this 
moment  —  to  dare  or  to  retire,  to  win  her  favour  at  the 
risk  of  his  life,  or  to  yield  her  to  another.  In  the  chill 
morning  hour  he  had  discovered  that  he  must  risk  all  or 
lose  all:  and  he  had  decided. 

"I  will  make  it  possible,"  he  said,  slowly,  questioning  in 
his  mind  whether  he  dared  make  terms  with  her,  "I 
will  make  it  possible,"  he  repeated,  still  more  slowly,  and 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face. 

**If  you  could!"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands. 

"I  will!"  he  said,  a  sullen  undertone  in  his  voice.  His 
eyes  still  dwelt  darkly  on  her.  "If  he  raises  an  objection, 
I  will  fight  him  —  myself!" 

She  shrank  from  him.  "All,  but  I  can't  ask  that!" 
she  cried,  trembling. 

"It  is  that  or  nothing." 

"That  or " 


"There  is  no  other  way,"  he  said.     He  spoke  with  the 
same  ungraciousness;  for,  try  as  he  would,  and  though  the 


304  THEWILDGEESE 

habit  and  the  education  of  a  life  cried  to  him  to  treat  with 
her  and  make  conditions,  he  could  not;  and  he  was  enraged 
that  he  could  not. 

The  more  as  her  wet  eyes,  her  quick,  mounting  colour, 
told  of  her  gratitude.  In  another  moment  she  might  have 
said  a  word  fit  to  unlock  his  lips.  And  he  would  have 
spoken;  and  she  would  have  pledged  herself.  But  fate, 
in  the  person  of  old  Darby,  intervened.  Timely  or 
untimely,  the  butler  appeared  in  the  distant  dorway, 
cried  "Hist!"  and,  by  a  backward  gesture,  warned  them 
of  some  approaching  peril. 

"I  fear "  she  began. 

"Yes,  go!"  Asgill  replied,  almost  roughly.  "He  is 
coming,  and  he  must  not  find  us  together." 

The  garden  gate  had  barely  closed  on  her  skirts  before 
Payton  issued  from  the  courtyard.  The  Englishman 
paused  an  instant  in  the  gateway,  his  sword  under  his  arm 
and  a  handkerchief  in  his  hand.  Thence  he  looked  up 
and  down  the  road  with  an  air  of  confidence  that  provoked 
Asgill  beyond  measure.  The  sun  did  not  seem  bright 
enough  for  him,  nor  the  air  scented  to  his  liking.  Finally 
he  approached  the  Irishman,  who,  affecting  to  be  engaged 
with  his  own  thoughts,  had  kept  his  distance. 

"Is  he  ready?"  he  asked,  with  a  sneer. 

With  an  effort  Asgill  controlled  himself.  "He  is  not," 
he  said. 

"At  his  prayers,  is  he?     Well,  he  '11  need  them." 

"He  is  not,  to  my  knowledge,"  Asgill  replied.  "But  he 
is  ill." 


BEHIND    THE    YEWS  305 

Payton's  face  lightened  with  a  joy  not  pleasant  to  see. 
"  A  coward ! "  he  said,  coolly.  "  I  am  not  surprised !  Ill, 
is  he  ?  Ay,  I  know  that  illness.  It 's  not  the  first  time 
I  've  met  it." 

Asgill  had  no  wish  to  precipitate  a  quarrel.  Only  in 
the  last  resort  had  he  determined  to  fling  off  the  mask. 
But  at  that  word  "coward,"  though  he  knew  it  to  be  well 
deserved,  his  temper,  sapped  by  the  knowledge  that  love 
was  forcing  him  into  a  position  which  reason  repudiated, 
gave  way,  and  he  spoke  his  true  thoughts. 

"What  a  bully  you  are,  Payton! "  he  said,  in  his  slowest 
tone.  "Sure,  and  you  insult  the  man's  sister  in  your 
drink " 

"WTiat's  that  to  you?" 

"You  insult  the  man's  sister,"  Asgill  persisted  coolly, 
"and  because  he  treats  you  like  the  tipsy  creature  you  are, 
you  'd  kill  him  like  a  dog." 

Payton  turned  white.  "And  you,  too,"  he  said,  "if 
you  say  another  word!  What  in  heaven's  name  is  amiss 
with  you,  man,  this  morning?     Are  you  mad?" 

"I  '11  not  hear  the  word  'coward'  used  of  the  family  — 
I  '11  soon  be  one  of! "  Asgill  returned,  speaking  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment,  and  wondering  at  himself  the  moment  he 
had  made  the  statement.  "That  's  what  I  'm  meaning! 
Do  you  see  ?  And  if  you  are  for  repeating  the  word,  more 
by  token,  it  '11  be  all  the  breakfast  you  '11  have,  for  I  '11 
cram  it  down  your  ugly  throat!" 

Payton  stared,  divided  between  rage  and  astonishment. 
But  the  former  was  not  slow  to  get  the  upper  hand,  and 


nor;  the  wild  c  k  ese 

"  ICiioii^li  said,"  lie  replied.  "  If  yon  arc  wiliiii<^  to  make 
it  ^ood,  you  'II  he  coming  this  way." 

"VVilliti^dy!"   Asfrill  uuswcred. 

"  I  'I!  Iiav(^  one  of  my  men  for  witness.  Ay,  that  I  will! 
I  don't  trnst  yon,  Mr.  Asj^ill,  and  that's  flat.  (Jet  yon 
whom  yon  please!      In  live  niinuh-s,  in  llie  friirdcii,  then?" 

As^nll  n<)d(le<|.  Tlie  l*'n<r|islimaii  look(>d  once  more  .'it 
him  to  make  sure  that  he  was  sober;  then  he  tiu'iied  on 
his  heel  and  went  hack  (hr()n<^h  the  courtyard.  As<^ill 
remained    alone. 

lie  had  taken  (he  stcj)  there  was  no  retraein<^.  lie  had 
cast  (he  dice,  and  (Ik  ne\(  lew  minn((\s  would  decide 
whctliei'  i(  was  for  life  or  dea(Ii.  The  sunshine  lost  i(s 
warmdi  and  jfrew  pale,  (he  hills  lost  their  colour  and  their 
l)ean(y,  as  h<>  re(lec(cd  (ha(  he  miifjit  never  sec  tlu*  one  or 
(he  odier  af^ain,  mi<^ht  never  return  hy  that  lak(^-side  road 
by  whleli  hr  had  come;  as  he  re  mem  he  red  (hat  all  his  [)lans 
Tor  his  a;;<;ra,n(li/,emen(,  and  (hey  were  many  and  clever, 
minli(  end  (his  day,  (his  inornin;:,',  (his  hour!  I(  mii^ht  well 
he,  for  (he  odds  were  i^ncal  a[;ains(  him,  that  it  was  to  this 
day  dial  all  his  life  had  led  nj);  (ha(  life  hy  which  men 
would  hy  and  \ty  jnd^'c  him,  recallin<f  this  chicaiu^  and  that 
cx(,ortion,  (ha,ukin<;  (Jod  that  he  was  dead,  or  j)crhaj)S  one 
here  and  (here  shru^^in^  his  shoulders  in  <j;o<)d-naturcd 
re  <^  ret. 

"I<\'ii(h,  Mr.  As<^ill,"  cried  a,  voice  in  his  ear,  "it's  if 
you  're  ill,  (he  Major  's  asking.  And,  hy  the  [)o\ver,  it  's 
not  very  well  yon  'vr  lookin<i;  (his  day!" 

As^nll  ryvil  (he  in(errnj»(,er       it  was  Morty  O'Jieirnc  — 


BEHIND    THE    YEWS  307 

with  a  sternness  which  his  pallor  made  more  striking. 
"f  am  coming,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  fight  him." 

"The  deuce  you  arc ! "  the  young  man  answered.  "  Now, 
are  you  meaning?     This  morning  that  ever  is?" 

"Ay,  now.     Where  is " 

He  stopped  on  the  word,  and  was  silent.  Instead,  he 
looked  across  the  courtyard  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 
If  he  might  see  her  again.  If  he  might  speak  to  her. 
But,  no,  Yet  —  was  it  certain  that  she  knew  —  that  she 
understood  ?  And  if  she  understood,  would  she  know 
that  he  had  gone  to  the  meeting  well-nigh  without  hope, 
aware  how  large,  how  very  large, were  the  odds  against  him  ? 

"  But,  faith,  and  it 's  no  jest  fighting  him,  if  the  least  bit 
in  life  of  what  I  've  heard  be  true!"  Morty  said,  a  cloud 
on  his  face.  He  looked  uncertainly  from  Asgill  to  the 
house  and  back.  "Is  it  to  be  doing  anything  you  A^ant 
me?" 

"  I  want  you  to  come  with  me  and  see  it  out,"  Asgill  said. 
He  wheeled  brusquely  to  the  garden  gate,  but  when  he 
was  within  a  pace  of  it  he  paused  and  turned  his  head. 
"Mr.  O'Beirne,"  he  said,  "I  'm  going  in  by  this  gate, 
and  it 's  not  much  to  be  expected  I  '11  come  out  any  way 
but  feet  first.  Will  you  be  telling  her,  if  you  please,  that  I 
knew  that  same?" 

"I  will,"  Morty  answered,  genuinely  distressed.  "  But 
I  'm  asking  is  there  no  other  way?" 

"There  is  none,"  ^sgill  said.     And  he  opened  the  gate. 

Payton  was  waiting  for  him  on  the  path  under  the  yew 
trees,  with  two  of  his  troopers  on  guard  in  the  background. 


308  THEWILDGEESE 

He  had  removed  his  coat  and  vest,  and  stood,  a  not 
ungraceful  figure,  in  the  sunshine,  bending  his  rapier  and 
feehng  its  point  with  his  thumb.  He  was  doing  this  when 
his  eyes  surprised  his  opponent's  entrance,  and,  without 
desisting  from  his  employment,  he  smiled. 

If  the  other's  courage  had  begun  to  wane  that  smile 
would  have  restored  it.  For  it  roused  in  him  a  stronger 
passion  than  fear  —  the  passion  of  hatred.  He  saw  in  the 
man  before  him,  the  man  with  the  cruel  smile,  a  demon 
who,  in  pure  malice,  without  reason  and  without  cause, 
would  take  his  life,  would  rob  him  of  joy  and  love  and 
sunshine,  and  hurl  him  into  the  blackness  of  the  gulf. 
And  he  was  seized  with  a  rage  at  once  fierce  and  deliberate. 
This  man,  who  would  kill  him  and  whom  he  saw  smiling 
before  him,  he  would  kill!  He  thirsted  to  set  his  foot  upon 
his  throat  and  squeeze,  and  squeeze  the  life  out  of  him! 
These  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through  his  mind  as 
he  paused  to  throw  off  the  encumbering  coat.  Then  he 
advanced,  drawing  his  weapon  as  he  moved,  and  fixing 
his  eyes  on  Pay  ton;  who,  for  his  part,  reading  the  other's 
thoughts  in  his  face  —  for  more  than  once  he  had  seen  that 
look  —  put  himself  on  his  guard  without  a  word. 

Asgill  had  no  more  than  the  rudimentary  knowledge 
of  the  sword  which  was  possessed  in  that  day  by  all  who 
wore  it.  He  knew  that,  given  time  and  the  decent  observ- 
ances of  the  fencing-school,  he  would  be  a  mere  child  in 
Payton's  hands;  that  it  would  matter  nothing  whether 
the  sun  were  on  this  side  or  that,  or  his  sword  the  longer 
or  the  shorter  by  an  inch. 


BEHIND    THE    YEWS  309 

The  moment  he  was  within  reach,  therefore,  and  his 
blade  touched  the  other's,  he  rushed  in,  kmging  fiercely  at 
his  opponent's  breast  and  trusting  to  the  vigour  of  his 
attack  and  the  circular  sweep  of  his  point  to  protect  him- 
self. Not  seldom  has  a  man  skilled  in  the  subtleties  of 
the  art  found  himself  confused  and  overcome  by  this 
mode  of  attack. 

But  Payton  had  met  his  man  too  often  on  the  green  to  be 
taken  by  surprise.  He  parried  the  first  thrust,  the  second 
he  evaded  by  stepping  adroitly  aside.  By  the  same  move- 
ment he  put  the  sun  in  Asgill's  eyes. 

Again  the  latter  rushed  in,  striving  to  get  within  his 
opponent's  guard;  and  again  Payton  stepped  aside,  and 
allowed  the  random  thrust  to  pass  wasted  under  his  arm. 
Once  more  the  same  thing  happened  —  Asgill  rushed  in, 
Payton  parried  or  evaded  with  the  ease  and  coolness  of 
long-tried  skill.  By  this  time  Asgill,  forced  to  keep  his 
blade  in  motion,  was  beginning  to  breathe  quickly.  The 
sweat  stood  on  his  brow,  he  struck  more  and  more  wildly, 
and  with  less  and  less  strength  or  aim.  He  was  aware  — 
it  could  be  read  in  the  glare  of  his  eyes  —  that  he  was  being 
reduced  to  the  defensive;  and  he  knew  that  to  be  fatal. 

An  oath  broke  from  his  panting  lips  and  he  rushed  in 
again,  even  more  recklessly,  more  at  random,  than  before, 
his  sole  object  now  to  kill  the  other,  to  stab  him  at  close 
quarters,  no  matter  what  happened  to  himself. 

Again  Payton  avoided  the  full  force  of  the  rush,  but  this 
time  after  a  difYerent  fashion.  He  retreated  a  step.  Then 
with  a  flicker  and  a  girding  of  steel  on  steel,  Asgill's  sword 


310  THEWILDGEESE 

flew  from  his  hand,  and  at  the  same  instant  —  or  so  nearly 
at  the  same  instant  that  the  disarming  and  the  thrust  might 
have  seemed  to  an  untrained  eye  one  motion  —  Payton 
turned  his  wrist  and  his  sword  buried  itself  in  Asgill's  body. 
The  unfortunate  man  recoiled  with  a  gasping  cry,  stag- 
gered, and  sank  sideways  to  the  ground. 

'"By  the  powers,"  O'Beirne  exclaimed,  springing  for- 
ward, "a  foul  stroke!  By  heaven,  a  foul  stroke!  He 
was  disarmed.     It " 

"Have  a  care  what  you  say!"  Payton  answered  slowly, 
and  in  a  terrible  tone.  "You  'd  do  better  to  look  to  your 
friend  —  for  he  '11  need  it." 

"It's  you  that  struck  him  after  he  was  disarmed!" 
Morty  cried,  almost  weeping  with  rage.  "Not  a  bit  of  a 
chance  did  you  give  him!     You " 

"Silence,  I  say!"  Payton  answered,  in  a  fierce  tone  of 
authority.  "I  know  my  duty;  and  if  you  know  yours 
you  '11  look  to  him." 

He  turned  aside  with  that,  and  thrust  the  point  of  his 
sword  twice  and  thrice  into  the  sod  before  he  sheathed  the 
weapon.  Meanwhile  Morty  had  cast  himself  down 
beside  the  fallen  man,  who,  speechless,  and  with  his  head 
hanging,  continued  to  support  himself  on  his  hand.  A 
patch  of  blood,  bright-coloured,  was  growing  slowly  on 
his  vest  ,  and  there  was  blood  on  his  lips. 

"Oh,  whirra,  whirra,  what '11  I  do?"  the  Irishman 
exclaimed,  helplessly  wringing  his  hands.  "Wliat'll  I 
do  for  him  ?     He  's  murdered  entirely! " 

Payton,  aided  by  one  of  the  troopers,  was  putting  on  his 


BEHIND    THE    YEWS  311 

coat  and  vest.  He  paused  to  bid  the  other  help  the  gentle- 
man. Then,  with  a  cold  look  at  the  fallen  man,  for  whom, 
though  they  had  been  friends,  as  friends  go  in  the  world, 
he  seemed  to  have  no  feeling  except  one  of  contempt, 
he  walked  away  in  the  direction  of  the  rear  of  the  house. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  back  door  the  alarm  was 
abroad,  the  maids  were  running  to  and  fro  and  screaming, 
and  on  the  threshold  he  encountered  Flavia.  Pale  as  the 
stricken  man,  she  looked  on  Pay  ton  with  an  eye  of  horror, 
and,  as  he  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass,  she  drew  her  skirts 
away,  that  they  might  not  touch  him. 

He  went  on,  with  rage  in  his  heart.  "Very  good,  my 
lady,"  he  muttered,  "very  good!  But  I  've  not  done  with 
you  yet.  I  know  a  way  to  pull  your  pride  down.  And 
I '11  go  about  it!" 

He  might  have  spoken  less  confidently  had  he,  before 
he  retired  from  the  scene  of  the  fight,  cast  one  upward 
glance  in  the  direction  of  the  house;  had  he  marked  an 
opening  high  up  in  the  wall  of  yew,  and  noticed  through 
that  opening  a  window,  so  placed  that  it  alone  of  all  the 
windows  in  the  house  commanded  the  scene  of  action. 
For  then  he  would  have  discovered  at  that  casement  a  face 
he  knew,  and  a  pair  of  stern  eyes  that  had  followed  the 
course  of  the  struggle  throughout,  noted  each  separate 
attack,  and  judged  the  issue  —  and  the  man. 

And  he  might  have  taken  warning. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  PITCHER  AT  THE  WELL 

THE  surgeon  of  that  day  was  better  skilled  in  letting 
blood  than  in  stanching  it.  It  was  well  for 
Luke  Asgill,  therefore,  that  none  lived  nearer 
than  Tralee.  It  was  still  more  fortunate  for  him  that  there 
was  one  in  the  house  to  whom  the  treatment  of  such  a 
wound  as  his  was  an  every-day  matter,  and  who  was  guided 
in  his  practice  less  by  the  rules  of  the  faculty  than  by  those 
of  common  sense. 

Even  under  his  care  Asgill's  life  hung  for  many  hours  in 
the  balance.  There  was  a  time  when  his  breath,  in  the 
old  phrase,  would  not  raise  a  feather.  The  servants  were 
ready  to  raise  the  "keen,"  the  cook  sought  the  salt  for  the 
death-plate.  Colonel  John,  mindful  of  many  a  man  found 
living  on  the  field  hours  after  he  should,  by  all  the  rules, 
have  died,  did  not  despair;  and  little  by  little  the  Colonel's 
skill  and  patience  prevailed.  The  breathing  grew  stronger 
and,  though  the  end  must  remain  uncertain,  death,  for  the 
moment,  was  repelled. 

Now,  he  who,  when  others  are  distraught  and  wring 
their  hands,  knows  both  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it, 
cannot  fail  to  impress  the  imagination.  Unsupported  by 
Flavia,  Colonel  John  might  have  done  less:  yet  she  who 

312 


PITCHER    AT    THE    WELL       313 

fetched  and  carried  for  him,  and  shrank  from  no  sight  of 
blood  or  wound,  was  also  the  one  who  succumbed  the  most 
completely  to  his  ascendancy.  Flavia's  feelings  toward 
her  cousin  had  been  altering  hour  by  hour,  and  this 
experience  of  him  hastened  her  tacit  surrender. 

Having  seen  how  high  he  could  rise  in  adversity,  she  now 
saw  also  how  naturally  he  took  the  lead  of  others,  how 
completely  he  dominated  the  crowd.  While  she  no  longer 
marvelled  at  the  skill  with  which  he  had  thwarted  plans 
which  she  began  to  appraise  at  their  value,  she  found  her- 
self relying  upon  him  to  an  extent  which  startled  and 
frightened  her. 

Was  it  only  that  morning  that  she  had  trembled  for  her 
brother's  life  ?  Was  it  only  that  morning  that  she  had 
opened  her  eyes  and  known  him  craven,  unworthy  of  his 
name  and  race  ?  Was  it  only  that  morning  that  she  had 
sent  into  peril  the  man  who  lay  dying  before  her?  For 
if  that  were  so  why  did  she  now  feel  so  different?  Why 
did  she  now  feel  inexplicably  relieved,  inconceivably  at 
ease,  almost  happy  ?  Why,  with  the  man  whom  she  had 
thrust  into  peril  lying  in  extremis  before  her,  did  she  find 
her  mind  straying  to  another?  To  one  whose  hands 
touched  hers  in  the  work  of  tendance,  who,  low-toned, 
ordered  her  hither  and  thither,  and  was  obeyed  ? 

She  asked  herself  the  question  as  she  sat  in  the  darkened 
room,  watching.  And  in  the  twilight  she  blushed.  Once, 
at  a  crisis.  Colonel  John  had  taken  her  roughly  by  the 
wrist  and  forced  her  to  hold  the  bandage  so,  while  he 
twisted  it.     She  looked  at  the  wrist  now,  and,  fancying  she 


314  THEWILDGEESE 

could  see  the  imprint  of  his  fingers  on  it,  she  blushed  more 
deeply. 

Presently  there  came,  as  they  sat  listening  to  the 
fluttering  breath,  a  low  scratching  at  the  door.  At  a  sign 
from  Colonel  Sullivan,  who  sat  on  the  inner  side  of  the  bed, 
she  stole  to  it  and  found  MortyO'Beirne  on  the  threshold. 
He  beckoned  to  her,  and,  closing  the  door,  she  followed 
him  downstairs,  to  where,  in  the  living-room,  she  found  the 
other  O'Beirne  standing  sheepishly  beside  the  table. 

"It 's  not  knowing  what  to  do,  we  are,"  Morty  said. 

He  did  not  look  at  her,  nor  did  his  brother.  Her  heart 
sank.     "What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"The  fiend  's  in  the  man,"  Morty  replied,  tapping  with 
his  fingers  on  the  table.  "  But  —  it 's  you  will  be  telling 
her,  Phelim." 

"It 's  he  that 's  not  content,"  Phelim  muttered.  "The 
thief  of  the  world!" 

"Curse  him!"  cried  his  brother. 

"  Not  content  ?  "  she  echoed.  "  After  what  he  's  done  ?  " 
Then  the  downcast  demeanour  of  the  two  told  the  story, 
and  she  gasped.  "He's  for  —  fighting  my  brother?" 
she  whispered. 

"He  '11  be  content  with  no  less,"  Morty  answered,  with 
a  groan.  "Bad  cess  to  him!  And  The  McMurrough  — 
sure  he  's  no  stomach  for  it.  And  whirra,  whirra,  on  that 
the  man  says  he  '11  be  telling  it  in  Tralee  that  he  'd  not 
meet  him,  and  as  far  as  Galway  City  he  '11  cut  his  comb 
for  him!     Ay,  bedad,  he  says  that!" 

She   listened,  despairing.      The  house  was  quiet,  as 


PITCHER    AT     THE    WELL       315 

houses  in  the  country  are  of  an  afternoon.  Her  thoughts 
were  no  longer  with  the  injured  man,  however,  but  in  that 
other  room,  where  her  brother  lurked  in  shameful  fear  that 
in  a  nameless  man  might  have  been  pardoned,  but  in  him, 
head  of  his  race,  last  of  his  race,  never!  She  came  of 
heroes.  To  her  the  strain  had  descended  pure  and 
untainted,  and  she  would  rather  have  seen  him  dead. 
The  two  men  before  her,  she  was  very  sure,  would  have 
taken  up  the  glove,  unwillingly  and  perforce,  but  they 
would  have  fought!     While  her  brother.  The  McMur- 

rough But  even  while  she  thought  of  it,  she  saw 

through  the  open  door  the  figure  of  a  man  saunter  slowly 
past  the  courtyard  gates,  his  sword  under  his  arm.  It 
was  the  Englishman.  She  felt  the  added  sting.  Her 
cheek,  that  had  been  pale,  burned  darkly. 

"St.  Patrick  fly  away  with  the  toad  and  the  ugly  smile 
of  him!"  Morty  said.  "I  'm  thinking  it 's  between  the 
two  of  us,  Phelim,  my  jewel !  And  he  that 's  killed  will 
help  the  other." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  Flavia  cried,  pale  with  horror  at  the 
thought.     "Not  another!" 

"But  sure,  and  I  'm  not  seeing  how  else  we  '11  be  rid  of 
him  handsomely,"  Phelim  replied. 

"No!"  she  repeated  firmly.     "No!  I  forbid  it!" 

Again  the  man  sauntered  by  the  entrance,  and  again  he 
cast  the  same  insolent,  smiling  look  at  the  house.  They 
watched  him  pass,  an  ominous  shadow  in  the  sunshine, 
and  Flavia  shuddered. 

"But  what  will  you  be  doing,  then?"  Morty  asked. 


316  THE  WILD  GEESE 

rubbing  his  chin  in  perplexity.  "  He  's  saying  that  if  The 
McMurrough  '11  not  meet  him  by  four  o'clock,  and  it 
is  n't  short  of  it,  he  '11  be  riding  this  day!  And  him  once 
gone  he  's  a  bitter  tongue,  and  't  will  be  foul  shame  on  the 
house!'* 

Flavia  drew  in  her  breath  sharply  —  she  had  made  up 
her  mind.  "1  know  what  I  will  do,"  she  said.  "I  will 
tell  him  all."     And  she  turned  to  go. 

"It's  not  worth  the  shoe-leather!"  Morty  cried  after 
her,  letting  his  scorn  of  James  be  seen. 

But  when  she  returned  a  minute  later  she  was 
followed,  not  by  James  McMurrough,  but  by  Colonel 
Sullivan.  The  Colonel's  face  had  lost  the  brown 
of  health;  but  he  trod  firmly,  and  his  eyes  were  clear 
and  kind. 

"  I  am  willing  to  help  if  I  can,"  he  said.  "  What  is  your 
trouble?" 

"Tell  him,"  Flavia  said,  averting  her  face. 

They  told  him  in  almost  the  same  words  in  which  they 
had  broken  the  news  to  her.  "And  the  curse  of  Cromwell 
on  me,  but  he  's  parading  up  and  down  now,"  Morty  con- 
tinued, "and  cocking  his  eye  at  the  sundial  whenever  he 
passes,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Is  it  coming,  you  are  ? '  till  the 
heart 's  fairly  melted  in  me  with  the  rage!" 

"And  it 's  shame  on  us  we  let  him  be!"  cried  Phelim. 

Colonel  John  did  not  answer.  He  was  silent  even  when, 
under  the  eyes  of  all,  the  ominous  shadow  passed  again 
before  the  entrance  gates  —  came  and  went.  He  was  so 
long  silent  that  Flavia  turned  to  him,  and  held  out  her 


PITCHER    AT    THE    WELL       317 

hands.  "What  shall  we  do?"  she  cried  —  and  in  that 
cry  she  betrayed  her  new  dependence  on  him. 

"It  is  hard  to  say,"  Colonel  John  answered  gravely. 
His  face  was  very  gloomy,  and  to  hide  it  or  his  thoughts  he 
turned  from  them  and  went  to  one  of  the  windows. 

They  waited,  Flavia  with  a  growing  sense  of  disappoint- 
ment. She  did  not  know  what  she  had  thought  that  he 
would  do;  but  she  had  been  confident  that  he  could  help; 
and  it  seemed  that  he  could  do  no  more  than  others. 

He  came  back  to  them  presently,  his  face  sad.  "I  will 
deal  with  it,"  he  said  —  and  he  sighed.  "You  can  leave 
it  to  me.  Do  you,"  he  continued,  addressing  Morty, 
"come  with  me,  Mr.  O'Beirne." 

He  was  for  leaving  them  with  that,  but  Flavia  put  her- 
self between  him  and  the  door.  She  fixed  her  eyes  on  his 
face.  "What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked  in  a  low 
voice. 


II  - 


I  will  tell  you  all  —  later,"  he  replied  gently. 
No!  now,"  she  retorted,  controlling  herself  with  dif- 
ficulty.    "Now!     You  are  not  going  —  to  fight  him ? " 

"I  am  not  going  to  fight,"  he  answered  slowly. 

But  her  heart  was  not  so  easily  deceived  as  her  ear. 
"  There  is  something  under  your  words,"  she  said.  "  What 
is  it?" 

"I  am  not  going  to  fight,"  he  replied  gravely,  "but  to 
punish.  There  is  a  limit."  Even  while  he  spoke  she 
remembered  in  what  circumstances  those  words  had  been 
used.  "  He  has  the  blood  of  four  on  his  head,  and  another 
lies  at  death's  door.     And  he  is  not  satisfied.     Once  I 


318  THEWILDGEESE 

warned  him.  To-day  the  time  for  warning  is  past,  the 
hour  for  judgment  is  come.  God  forgive  me  if  I  err, 
for  vengeance  is  His  and  it  is  terrible  to  be  His  hand." 
He  turned  to  Phelim.  "My  sword  is  broken,"  he  said. 
"Fetch  me  the  man's  sword  who  Hes  upstairs." 

Phehra  went,  awe-stricken,  and  marvelhng.  Morty 
remained,  marvelhng  also.  And  Flavia  —  but,  as  she 
tried  to  speak,  Payton's  shadow  came  into  sight  at  the 
entrance  gates  and  went  slowly  by,  and  she  clapped  her 
hand  to  her  mouth  that  she  might  not  scream.  Colonel 
Sullivan  saw  the  action,  understood,  and  touched  her 
softly  on  the  shoulder.     "Pray,"  he  said,  "pray!" 

"For  you!"  she  cried  in  a  voice  that,  to  those  who  had 
ears,  betrayed  her  heart.     "All,  I  will  pray!" 

"No,  for  him,"  he  replied.  "For  him  now.  For  me 
when  I  return." 

She  dropped  on  her  knees  before  a  chair,  and,  shudder- 
ing, hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  And  almost  at  once  she 
knew  that  they  were  gone,  and  that  she  was  alone  in  the 
room. 

Then,  whether  she  prayed  most  or  listened  most,  or  the 
very  intensity  of  her  listening  was  itself  prayer,  she  never 
knew;  but  only  that,  when  in  the  agony  of  her  suspense 
she  raised  her  head  from  the  chair  to  hear  if  there  was 
news,  the  common  sounds  of  afternoon  life  lashed  her  with 
a  dreadful  irony.  The  low  whirr  of  a  spinning-wheel,  a 
girl's  distant  chatter,  the  cluck  of  a  hen  in  the  courtyard, 
the  satisfied  grunt  of  a  roving  pig,  all  bore  home  to  her 
the  bitter  message  that,  whatever  happened,  and  though 


PITCHER    AT    THE    WELL       319 

nightfall  found  her  lonely  in  a  dishonoured  home,  hfe 
would  proceed  as  usual,  the  men  and  the  women  about  her 
would  eat  and  drink,  and  the  smallest  things  would  stand 
where  they  stood  now. 

WTiat  was  that?  Only  the  fall  of  a  spit  in  the  kitchen. 
Would  they  never  come  ?  Would  she  never  know  ?  That 
surely  was  something.  They  were  returning!  In  a 
moment  she  would  know.  She  rose  to  her  feet  and  stared 
with  stony  eyes  at  the  door.  But  when  she  had  listened 
long  —  it  was  nothing.  Nothing!  And  then  —  ah,  that 
surely  was  something!  They  were  coming  now.  In  a 
moment  she  would  know.  Yes,  they  were  coming.  In 
a  moment  she  would  know.  She  pressed  her  hands  to 
her  breast. 

She  might  have  known  already,  for,  had  she  gone  to  the 
door,  she  would  have  seen  who  came.  But  she  could 
not  go. 

And  he,  when  he  came  in,  did  not  look  at  her.  He 
walked  from  the  threshold  to  the  hearth,  and  —  strange 
coincidence  —  he  set  the  unsheathed  blade  he  carried  in 
the  self-same  angle,  beside  the  fire-back,  from  which  she 
had  once  taken  a  sword  to  attempt  his  life.  And  still  he 
did  not  look  at  her,  but  stood  with  bowed  head. 

At  last  he  turned.     "God  forgive  us  all,"  he  said. 

She  broke  into  wild  weeping.  And  what  her  lips, 
babbling  incoherent  thanksgiving,  did  not  tell  him,  the 
clinging  of  her  arms,  as  she  hung  on  him,  conveyed. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

PEACE 

UNCLE  ULICK,  with  the  mud  of  the  road  on  his 
boots,  and  the  curls  still  stiff  in  the  wig  which 
the  town  barber  at  Mallow  had  dressed  for  him, 
rubbed  his  chin  with  his  hand  and  owned  himself 
puzzled.  Had  his  absence  run  into  months  instead  of 
weeks  the  lapse  of  time  had  not  sufficed  to  explain 
the  change  which  he  felt,  but  could  not  define,  in  his 
surroundings. 

Certainly  old  Darby  looked  a  thought  more  trim,  and 
the  room  a  trifle  better  ordered  than  he  had  left  them. 
But  the  change  did  not  stop  there  —  perhaps  did  not  begin 
there.  Full  of  news  of  the  outer  world  as  he  was,  he  caught 
himself  pausing  in  mid-career  to  question  himself,  and  his 
eyes  scanned  his  companions'  faces  for  the  answer  his  mind 
refused  to  give. 

An  insolent  Englishman  had  come,  and,  after  running 
Luke  Asgill  through  the  body,  had  paid  the  penalty  —  in 
fight  so  fair  that  the  very  troopers  who  had  witnessed  it 
could  make  no  complaint  nor  raise  trouble.  So  much 
Uncle  Ulick  had  learned.  But  he  had  not  known  Payton, 
and,  exciting  as  the  episode  sounded,  it  did  not  explain  the 
difference  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  house.     Where  he  had 

320 


PEACE  321 

left  suspicion,  and  a  silent  table,  he  found  smiles,  and 
easiness,  and  a  cheerful  sense  of  well-being. 

Again  he  looked  about  him.  "And  where  will  James 
be?"  he  asked. 

"He  has  left  us,"  Flavia  said,  with  her  eyes  on  Colonel 

Sullivan. 

"It's  away  to  Galway  City  he  is,"  Morty  O'Beirne 
explained  with  a  chuckle. 

"The  saints  be  between  us  and  harm!"  Uncle  Ulick 
exclaimed  in  astonishment.     "And  why  's  he  there?" 

"The  story  is  long,"  said  Colonel  Sullivan, 

"But  I  can  tell  it  in  a  few  words,"  Flavia  continued  with 
dignity.  "And  the  sooner  it  is  told  the  better.  He  has 
not  behaved  well.  Uncle  Ulick.  And  at  his  request  and 
•^ith  —  the  legal  owner's  consent  —  it 's  I  have  agreed  to 
pay  him  one-half  of  the  value  of  the  property." 

"The  deuce  you  have!"  Uncle  Ulick  exclaimed,  in 
greater  astonishment.  And,  pushing  back  his  seat  and 
rubbing  his  huge  thigh  with  his  hand,  he  looked  from  one 
to  another.  "By  the  powers!  if  I  may  take  the  liberty 
of  saying  so,  young  lady,  you  've  done  a  vast  deal  in  a  very 
little  time  —  faith,  in  no  time  at  all,  at  all!"  he  added. 

"It  was  done  at  his  request,"  Flavia  answered,  gravely. 

Uncle  Ulick  continued  to  rub  his  thigh  and  to  stare. 
These  things  were  very  surprising.     "And  they  're  telling 
me,"  he  said,  "that  Luke  Asgill's  in  bed  upstairs?" 
"He  is." 

"And  recovering?" 
"He  is,  glory  be!" 


322  THEWILDGEESE 

"Nor  that  same's  not  the  best  news  of  him,"  Morty  said 
with  a  grin.     "Nor  the  last." 

"True  for  you!"  PheHm  cried,  "if  it  was  the  last  word 
you  spoke!" 

"What  are  you  meaning?"  Uncle  Ulick  asked. 

"He's  turned,"  said  Morty.  "No  less!  Turned! 
He  's  what  his  father  was  before  him,  Mr.  Sullivan  — 
come  back  to  Holy  Church,  and  not  a  morning  but  Father 
O'Hara's  with  him." 

"Turned!"  Uncle  Ulick  cried.  "Luke  Asgill,  the 
justice?  Boys,  you've  making  fun  of  me!"  And, 
unable  to  believe  what  the  O'Beirnes  told  him,  he  looked 
to  Flavia  for  confirmation. 

"It  is  true,"  she  said. 

"Bedad,  it  is?"  Uncle  Ulick  replied.  "Then  I  '11  not 
be  surprised  in  all  my  life  again !  More  by  token,  there  's 
only  one  thing  left  to  hope  for,  my  jewel,  and  that  's  cer- 
tain. Cannot  you  do  the  same  to  the  man  that 's  beside 
you?" 

Flavia  glanced  quickly  at  Colonel  John,  then,  with  a 
heightened  colour,  she  looked  again  at  Uncle  Ulick. 
"That  's  what  I  cannot  do,"  she  said. 

But  the  blush,  and  the  smile  that  accompanied  it,  and 
something  perhaps  in  the  way  she  hung  toward  her 
neighbour  as  she  turned  to  him,  told  Uncle  Ulick  all. 
The  big  man  smacked  the  table  with  his  hand  till  the 
platters  leaped  from  the  board. 

"Holy  poker!"  he  cried,  "is  it  that  you're  meaning? 
And  I  felt  it,  and  I  did  n't  feel  it,  and  you  sitting  there 


PEACE  323 

forenent  me,  and  prating  as  if  butter  would  n't  melt  in 
your  mouth!  It  is  so,  is  it?  But  there,  the  red  of  your 
cheek  is  answer  enough!" 

For  Flavia  was  blushing  more  brightly  than  before,  and 
Colonel  John  was  smiling,  and  the  two  young  men  were 
laughing  openly. 

"You  must  get  Flavia  alone,"  Colonel  John  said,  "and 
perhaps  she  '11  tell  you." 

"  Bedad,  it 's  true,  and  I  felt  it  in  the  air,"  Ulick 
Sullivan  answered,  smiling  all  over  his  face.  "Ho,  ho! 
Ho,  ho!  Indeed  you've  not  been  idle  while  I've  been 
away.     But  what  does  Father  O'Hara  say,  eh?" 

"The  Father "  Flavia  began  in  a  small  voice. 

"Ay,  what  does  the  Father  say?" 

"He  says,"  Flavia  continued,  looking  down  demurely, 
"that  it 's  a  rare  stick  that 's  no  bend  in  it,  and  —  and 
*t  is  very  little  use  looking  for  it  on  a  dark  night.     Besides, 

he "  she  glanced  at  her  neighbour,  "he  said  he  'd  be 

master,  you  know,  and  what  could  I  do?" 

"Then  it 's  the  very  wrong  way  he  's  gone  about  it!" 
Uncle  Ulick  cried,  with  a  chuckle.  "For  there  's  no 
married  man  that  I  know  that 's  master!  It 's  you,  my 
jewel,  have  put  the  comether  on  him,  and  I  '11  trust  you  to 
keep  it  there!" 

But  into  that  we  need  not  go.  Our  task  is  done. 
Whether  Flavia's  high  spirit  and  her  husband's  gravity 
travelled  the  road  together  in  unbroken  amity,  or  with 
no  more  than  the  jars  which  the  accidents  of  life  occasion, 
it  does  not  fall  within  this  story  to  tell.     Probably  the  two 


324  THEWILDGEESE 

had  their  bickerings  which  did  not  sever  love.  But  one 
thing  may  be  taken  for  granted :  in  that  part  of  Kerry  the 
King  over  the  Water,  if  his  health  was  sometimes  drunk  of 
an  evening,  stirred  up  no  second  trouble.  Nor,  when  the 
'45  convulsed  Scotland,  and  shook  England  to  its  centre, 
did  one  man  at  Morristown  raise  his  hand  or  lose  his  life. 
For  so  much  at  least  that  windswept  corner  of  Kerry, 
beaten  year  in  and  year  out  by  the  Atlantic  rollers,  had  to 
thank  Colonel  Sullivan. 

Nor  for  that  only.  In  many  unnamed  ways  his  know- 
ledge of  the  world  blessed  those  about  him.  And,  above 
all,  his  neighbours  owned  the  influence  of  one  who,  with  a 
reputation  gained  at  the  sword's  point,  stood  resolutely, 
at  fairs  and  cockfights  as  on  his  own  hearth,  for  peace. 
More  than  a  century  was  to  elapse  before  private  war 
ceased  to  be  the  amusement  of  the  Irish  gentry.  But  in 
that  part  of  Kerry,  and  during  a  score  of  years,  the  name 
and  weight  of  Colonel  Sullivan  of  Morristown  availed  to 
quiet  many  a  brawl  and  avert  many  a  meeting. 

To  follow  the  mean  of  spirit  beyond  the  point  where  their 
fortunes  cease  to  be  entwined  with  those  of  better  men  is  a 
profitless  task.  James  McMurrough,  found  wanting 
where  all  favoured  him,  was  not  likely  to  rise  above  his 
nature  where  the  odds  were  equal  and  all  men  his  rivals. 
What  he  did  in  Galway  City,  how  long  he  tarried  there, 
and  whither  he  went  afterward,  in  the  vain  search  for  a 
place  where  a  man  could  swagger  without  courage  and 
ruffle  it  without  consequences,  it  matters  not  to  inquire. 

Luke  Asgill,  who  could  rise  as  much  above  The  McMur- 


PEACE  325 

rough  as  he  could  fall  below  him,  was  redeemed,  one  may 
believe,  by  the  good  that  lurked  in  him.  He  lay  many 
weeks  on  a  sick-bed,  and  returned  to  every-day  life  another 
man.  For,  whereas  he  had  succumbed  a  passionate  lover 
of  Flavia,  he  rose  wholly  cured  of  that  passion.  It  had 
ebbed  from  him  with  his  blood,  or  waned  with  his  fever. 
And  where  as  he  had  before  sought  both  gain  and  power, 
restrained  by  as  few  scruples  as  the  worst  men  of  a  bad 
age,  he  rose  a  pursuer  of  both,  but  within  bounds.  Close- 
fisted,  at  Father  O'Hara's  instance  he  could  open  his  hand. 
Hard,  at  the  Father's  prayer  he  would  at  times  remit  a 
rent  or  extend  a  bond.  Ambitious,  he  gave  up,  for  his 
soul's  sake,  the  office  which  endowed  him  with  power  to 
oppress. 

There  were  some  who  scoffed  behind  his  back,  but  in 
truth,  as  far  as  the  man's  reformation  went,  it  was  real. 
The  hours  he  had  passed  in  the  presence  of  death,  the 
thoughts  he  had  had  while  life  was  low  in  him,  were  not 
forgotten  in  his  health.  The  strong  nature,  slow  to  take 
an  impression,  was  stiff  to  retain  it.  A  moody,  silent  man, 
going  about  his  business  with  a  face  to  match  the  sullen 
bogs  of  his  native  land,  paid  one  tribute  only  to  the  woman 
he  had  loved  and  forgotten  —  he  died  a  bachelor. 


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